Brothers
by ScatteringAshes
Summary: The Italy brothers have beginnings that go back further than anyone else realized...
1. The Rain

Hello to you! This is ScatteringAshes (but ya'll can call me Ash) with my first story! I hope this goes over well; it's my first time writing the Italies, and I'm not exactly for sure about how it's turning out...This is the reason you should never role play while suffering from post-con depression...

Anywho, I hope you guys enjoy this!Oh! And to forewarn you, we decided to use Latin forms of names here. Trying to be as accurate as I can be!

Disclaimer: I don't own jack-squat. However, I did buy several key chains, a wall hanging, and a Gilbird when I was at the con. Plus I'm up-to-date in the anime and manga here in the States. But yeah...I'm not Himaruya-sensai. I'm not that gifted.

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><p>The rain was constant, but gentle. Tiny drops splashed against the stone streets and darkened whatever they touched. The streets were mostly empty; no one wanted to be caught in the rain and had taken shelter. However, three small boys were not nearly as fortunate.<p>

The two smaller boys, one no older than three and the other still practically an infant, clung to the oldest boy, trembling with cold. The oldest boy, who couldn't have been more than four or five years of age, held the shivering baby in an attempt to give some of his own warmth to the younger boy. All three boys were dressed in the dirty, tattered remains of their togas, neither one of them having seen a proper bath in weeks. The middle child was snuggling up to his brother, whimpering from hunger and cold.

"Don't cry, Felicianus," the older boy said, smoothing out his brother's curls. "You know I hate it when you cry."

Felicianus said nothing; with the exception of a few words, speech was still beyond him. His only forms of communication consisted of whimpers and cries and the giggly noises his brother hadn't heard since their parents were murdered. Romanus held his shivering baby brother close in an attempt to keep the baby warm. He was scared and frightened; how could he keep stealing enough to help them all survive? _Mater_ and _Pater_ had always said stealing was wrong…

Then again, they had said murder was wrong too, but that hadn't stopped the thieves that had attacked and murdered them.

The sound of footsteps drawing nearer grabbed hold of Romanus's attention, and the child clutched his brothers closer to him in an attempt to hide the sounds Felicianus was making. With any luck, whoever it was wouldn't notice them and would continue on their way.

However, it seemed that Romanus's luck royally sucked. The stranger apparently managed to hear Felicianus's whimpering and noticed the brothers. Romanus squeezed his eyes shut and held his whimpering brothers closer to him, hoping that by some miracle they would become invisible and the stranger would leave. Then again, Romanus's luck proved to be less the adequate for such a wish.

"What are three tiny _filii_ doing here all alone in the cold? Where are your parents?"

Romanus looked up at the stranger. He was struck by how familiar the man looked. This stranger had hair just like their father; dark and curly locks framing a tanned face. The oldest brother shook his head. He didn't know this man, and he was not about to put his brothers' lives in danger. The child couldn't think of a thing to say; anything he said would give away something. He couldn't say that his parents were out buying food, because he was pretty sure the stranger wouldn't overlook their ragged appearances, and he couldn't tell the man the truth. Orphans in Rome didn't always have the best lives…

"Well? Are you going to answer me?"

"Just leave us alone!" Romanus growled, shoving his brothers behind him in an effort to protect them.

"But I can't leave small children alone with no adults to care for them, especially not on a night like this. Come with me; I'll help you find your parents."

"We know where our parents are, _spuria_! They're both dead on the roadside somewhere."

The stranger's eyes widened in shock. Romano rubbed his eyes with his dirty arm, not caring about the smudging filth. He was an orphan, a street rat. He supposed to look pathetic. Before he knew it, the stranger had all three boys wrapped in a strong hug. The man wrapped the boys in his red cloak and carried them away, Romanus screaming and kicking the whole way, Felicianus grateful for the new source of warmth, and the infant sleeping peacefully in the man's arms.

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><p>...I humbly ask your forgiveness in bothering you with this fail. Never role played as either Italy, but my cousin insisted that I step out of my comfort zone. Still, please be kind and review! Faves and alerts are wonderful, but I like hearing actual feedback from people!<p>

Romanus: Latin form of Romano. We decided to use Latin names, at least at first.

Felicianus: Latin form of Feliciano.

filii: Latin for "children"

spuria: Romano says this. What do you _think_ it's Latin for? (coughBASTARDcoughcough)

I'd like to know if I should continue this or no...Also, not sure if you guys caught it, but the third kid (the baby) is supposed to be Seborga. We're still trying to figure out what to name him, but we're thinking about Gratianus/Graziano meaning "pleasing/agreeable". If anyone has any ideas, we'd be glad to hear them!


	2. The Nursery

Well, I'm not a huge fan of updating a story when I have four of anything (reviews, alerts, faves, etc.), but I finished this and I'm not sure when I'll get to a computer in the next few days, so...really hoping this doesn't jinx me...

Okay, fair warning: I write in a snippet style, meaning that I present scenes and such with low connectivity. So, if my writing seems at all jumpy or anything, that's why. This whole story is basically going to be snippets as the brothers grow up. Should've put that in the last chapter, but ah well... Anywho, just thought I'd let you know what's up.

Disclaimer: Through the power of the Internetz, I could be Hidekaz Himaruya. However, through the soul-crushing reality of life, I am not. I only own the OCs...to varying degrees, thanks to collaboration with my rp buddy.

Enjoy!

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><p>Hours after their abduction, the brothers were clean and in fresh linens. The woman their "rescuer" had dumped them on was a cheery Greek slave by the name of Nausicaä. She reminded them a great deal of their mother, from her dark green eyes and gentle smile to the way she held little Gratianus. The only differences were her long brown curls and tanned skin. Their mother had had pale skin and vibrant red hair that she kept tied in a thick braid down her back…<p>

"Now, boys, you know my name, but I don't know yours."

"Why would you have to know?" Romanus questioned, suddenly suspicious of the woman's motives.

"If you are going to be staying here, it would be nice to know what to call you. The master's sons are all called by their names, as are the women and the servants who stay here. I am merely a slave captured in combat, yet even I have a name." Nausicaä showed them the metal cuffs on her wrists, each with a crest engraved in it, marking her ownership by her master.

Felicianus cowered behind his older brother, and Romanus knew the toddler was thinking the same thing he was. _Mater_ had had bracelets just like this girl's…was that why they had to live in darkened rooms, hiding like thieves? Had their mother been an escaped slave?

Due to his young age, Romanus was extremely curious. Anything that could create a more solid and steady link to the mother he had permanently lost was definitely something he wanted to investigate.

"I'm Romanus, and this is my brother, Felicianus. You're holding Gratianus."

"Oh, how sweet! Come then, I'll take you to the nursery and you can meet the other children!"

Felicianus gripped Romanus's sleeve, letting the older boy know what he was thinking. Other children meant trouble. On the streets it meant competition for whatever scraps of food that could be found and some very tricky situations that often ended up in someone's blood. The brothers couldn't imagine it meaning anything else here, even if it seemed that any child in this minor palace would want for nothing. They both worried for their infant brother, too young to have even a vague idea of what was going on.

The room Nausicaä led them to was very large, leading out into a magnificent courtyard full of vibrantly colored flowers and brilliant greens. There were several people in the room already, three young boys and a several women. Nausicaä walked up to a woman dressed in a pristine white toga hemmed with thick bands of blue waves and bowed.

"Nausicaä," the woman began, her voice as light and musical as her smile was warm and friendly, "who do you have with you?"

"Romanus, Felicianus, and Gratianus, my lady. Master Rome found them and ordered me to look after them."

The oldest brother didn't miss the dark looks that crossed the faces of the women. Bringing Felicianus closer, Romanus subtly moved so that the younger brother was carefully shielded from any wrath the women would unleash. It seems there was little love for the man who had brought them here. The woman Nausicaä had bowed to stood up and walked up to her servant, carefully taking the sleeping baby cradled in the girl's arms.

"Oi! What are you doing! Give him back right now!" Romanus shouted, worrying for his sleeping brother.

"Relax, grandson of Rome," the woman said with a smile, "I am a mother, with a mother's heart. You and your brothers have done nothing to warrant my wrath. It has simply been a while since there was such a small child in this house. I adore children."

"Grandson? So the ungrateful brat and his barbarian whore did survive," another woman said, her skin dark and her hair a black tangle of thick curls. She stood up and walked over to the two brothers, her expression harsh and full of cold regard.

"The oldest certainly takes after his father. Pity he has the whore's eyes."

"My mother wasn't a whore!" Romanus shouted, glaring at the darker woman. Felicianus buried his face into his brother's back.

_Frater, what is a "whore"?_

…_I don't know, Feli, but it can't be a good thing. _

"Oh?" The dark woman smirked, hers far crueler and terrifying than even the smelly men who murdered their parents. "I suppose you are far too young to truly understand, and I doubt that your parents would have told you anyway. I want you to remember this, little Rome, and remember it well. One day you will know what I mean, and when that day comes, I want to see the rage in your eyes. Your mother was nothing more than a pleasure slave your father was fool enough to love."

"Persia! That is enough!" a third woman, dressed in linen and gold with black lines around her eyes, said as she stood. Her eyes were hard as she regarded the malicious woman. "The children do not need to hear such filth. I do not care if his mother was a slave or the princess of some distant land: while they are in this house, they will be treated as well as our own children."

Felicianus peered out from his hiding place, grateful for the interference.

"Persia" frowned, and offered the other woman a withering glare. "Of course, Egypt. It is to be expected. After all, the grandsons of Rome would be more important than his sons, now wouldn't they?"

"Persia." The woman holding Gratianus looked like some heavenly defender of the weak.

Persia said nothing, but grabbed the arm of one of the boys and led him out of the room. The boy cried out in protest, but his words fell on the deaf ears of his enraged mother. Sighing, the woman set Gratianus down in a cradle.

"Auait, thank you for stopping Amardad. That could have gotten much worse."

Auait gave a small tilt of her head in acknowledgment. "I do not want her spreading her filth to my son, Zosime. As foolish a notion as it may be, I want to preserve my son's innocence for as long as I can."

Zosime nodded. "_Nai_, I understand. I wish to do the same."

The two remaining boys got up and each ran to their respective mothers. One little boy had a cat sleeping on top of his head. Felicianus giggled a little behind his brother, causing Romanus to smile a bit. The boy with the cat on his head stared over at the two brothers. He looked sleepy and mostly uninterested in the newcomers, but there was something else going on behind his eyes. Untangling himself from his mother's arms, the boy moved over to the brothers. After staring at them for a moment, the boy nodded.

"I'm Heracles. The boy over there is Gupta—he doesn't talk much."

The other boy said nothing but walked over to join them, a small bit of interest tinting an otherwise blank expression. Felicianus peered out at the boys from behind his brother. Heracles noticed him and tilted a little.

"Hey, why don't you come out? That _mo__̱__ró__s_—"

"Heracles!"

"—Sadiq and his mother are gone. There's nothing to be afraid of." Heracles then looked back at his mother and offered her an apology in their native tongue. Zosime said something else, to which Heracles gave a nod of agreement and the two let the topic die.

As the mothers and their servants left the room, Felicianus inched out from his hiding place and sat down across from Heracles and Gupta. Romanus sat by his brother, still close enough that the younger boy could dive behind him in need be. The lighter-haired boy had become very clinging towards his brothers after their parents' brutal slayings…

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><p>Hope everyone enjoyed that! We were originally going to have Heracles call Sadiq an asshole in Greek, but we decided he was too young for it and changed it to moron instead.<p>

Auait is Ancient Egypt. Her name is the same name as an unidentified goddess, which is why we chose it.

Amardad is a Persian name meaning "immortality". Our purpose for using this name is that Persia took a different name after discovering her position as a nation.

Zosime is Greek meaning "survivior". We figured it would be appropriate.

Preview for the next chapter!

_"Mater, why are we praying to a crucifix? Don't people die on them?" _

_"Yes, my son, but we pray to special person. He died so that we all can find happiness in afterlife," she said with a smile, kissing his forehead."In fact..."  
><em>

_Suddenly, Romanus knew something was very wrong. He left something wet, and looked to see drops of crimson on his hands. Looking up at his mother, terrified of what was happening, Romanus wanted to scream. His mother, his beautiful and gentle and loving mother, was bleeding and there was a huge wound in her side. _

_"Your father and I have found happiness in afterlife. Won't you come with us...?"_

_He screamed._

Remember! Reviews are highly valued and appreciated! Thanks to everyone who reviewed! You're great, I love you all! gives them all cookies_  
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	3. The Nightmare

After being unexpectedly left home alone (yay for unexpected, huh?) I was able to finish this so I can post it! Happy Easter, everyone!

Disclaimer: I know this is to avoid any legal disputes, but come on. I mean, really, if I owned the series this story would be canon. Not posted on . So, yeah...still don't own it.

Enjoy!

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><p><em>"Mater, why are we praying to a crucifix? Don't people die on them?" <em>

_"Yes, my son, but we pray to special person. He died so that we all can find happiness in afterlife," she said with a smile, kissing his forehead."In fact..."_

_Suddenly, Romanus knew something was very wrong. He left something wet, and looked to see drops of crimson on his hands. Looking up at his mother, terrified of what was happening, Romanus wanted to scream. His mother, his beautiful and gentle and loving mother, was bleeding and there was a huge wound in her side. _

_"Your father and I have found happiness in afterlife. Won't you come with us...?"_

_He screamed._

"Romanus! Romanus, wake up!"

Romanus' eyes shot open as he quickly sat up, breathing heavily. Heracles was right next to him, a hand on his back in a gesture of comfort. Gupta was staring at the Roman from his own bed. Dark green eyes surveyed the room, noting that Felicianus was awake and clinging to the rag doll Zosime had given him while Gratianus had rolled over onto his stomach and was regarding his eldest brother with innocent eyes.

"Are you okay? You were thrashing around and screaming…I'm surprised my mother hasn't come here yet."

Romanus buried his face in his hands and shook his head. What could he say? No one knew the truth about how their mother died, only the brothers did and Romanus was really hoping that Felicianus was too young to remember as he grew older. Gratianus probably wouldn't, which Romanus considered a blessing.

"_That's right, my little Roma. Focus on the blessings. God is very kind, when we think about it. Isn't he?"_

The oldest son choked on a sob as his mother's voice echoed in his memories. His mother would never again whisper comforting words to him or stroke his hair or kiss away whatever cuts or scraps he had managed to acquire. He would never again hear her singing lullabies to him and his brothers while thunder and lightning fought in the skies, or laughing at a stupid joke his father made. Their father would never come home, all smiles and love, would never hold Romanus close to him and tell him stories of the world outside of the dim-lit rooms the family hid in.

"Romanus?" Heracles sounded confused and concerned, which took Romanus a bit by surprise; after all, they had only just met the boy. "Is there something you want to talk about? You kept screaming _'Mater, Mater'_ in your sleep." A kitten meowed as it rubbed up against Romanus, looking up at him with wide yellow-green eyes.

"No, no. Just had a nightmare, that's all. Go back to—"

Romanus froze when he noticed something in the Greek boy's hand. A small pendent made of two twigs tied together in the shape of a crucifix. Heracles looked at it like it wasn't a symbol from a persecuted new religion.

"Hey, Romanus, what's this? I've seen them before, I think…"

Jolted out of his shock by the words, Romanus snatched the pendent from Heracles' hands. Fixing the brown-haired boy with a stare so cold it could freeze the Wretched Inferno, Romanus clutched the small object close to his heart.

"Don't you ever. Touch this. Again. And don't you dare breathe a **word** about it to Rome. He'll have me killed."

Heracles raised his hands in a sign of surrender and nodded. "Don't worry, Romanus. Gupta and I won't tell. I don't know why you're so defensive of it, though…"

Of course he wouldn't. Romanus thought as much; from the sounds of it, Rome didn't discuss the world outside the house with anyone in the house, least of all the children. Not like his _Pater_… Of course the young Greek wouldn't know about the conflict over the ways of Christ. No one in this house would know how bad it was, how red the streets were with the blood of murdered Christians who couldn't hide well enough or run quick enough. Keeping the cross had been a dangerous move, but the small pieces of wood had somehow made the boy feel safe and safety was a rare thing for someone like him and his brothers to come by…

"Ah! I thought I heard voices! What are you _filii _still doing up?"

Romanus shoved the makeshift cross down his shirt and turned to see his newest tormentor, the Roman Empire. The man stood tall and jovial, so much like the father none of the brothers would ever see again. This man was supposedly their grandfather, and while Romanus could see the similarities, he refused to believe it. Rome hated Christians. Romanus' father was Christian, and so was his mother. Therefore, Rome hated his parents.

"Forgive us, Father," Heracles said, squirming a bit, "but Romanus had a nightmare. We're sorry we woke you."

"Nonsense, my boy! I haven't been able to see any of you much lately. Hey, where's Sadiq?" The great Rome looked around, seeing no trace of the boy Romanus hadn't met.

"His mother took him away from the nursery today, and we haven't seen him since." Romanus had to commend Heracles' effort to keep his dislike of the older boy silent.

"I see." Rome's eyes caught Romanus, and the green-eyed boy inwardly cringed in protest. "And how are my grandsons doing? Settling in well?"

Romanus swallowed and nodded, praying to God that Rome would leave them be, would mostly overlook them.

"Don't be so shy, Romanus! There's nothing to be scared of here!"

_Yes there is,_ Romano thought bitterly, desperately longing to run his fingers over the cross hiding beneath his clothes. _You._

"How old are you and your brothers, Romanus?"

"I'm five years, Felicianus is three, and Gratianus will be a year exactly next month."

Rome clicked his tongue and shook his head, conveying sympathy for the young orphan. "That's too young to not have a mother or a father, hm?"

_What are you getting at?_ "…We did okay…"

Rome smiled, soft and gentle and way Romanus never thought Rome could smile, though it vanished as quickly as it came. "Well, goodnight, _filii_! May the gods protect you!"

With that, the King of the Mediterranean was gone, and Romanus could breathe a bit easier. As Heracles and Gupta returned to their beds and prepared for sleep, Romanus went and made sure his little brothers were calm. With a soft voice, the eldest brother motioned for Felicianus to follow him to Gratianus' cradle. _Come, Feli, come pray with me. _

Taking out the small twig-cross, Romanus held it in his hands and clasped them together in prayer. Felicianus took Gratianus' hands and pushed them together in prayer. When the infant's hands wouldn't stay, Felicianus solved the problem by folding his own hands over the baby's. Romanus smiled at the antics of his brothers. With a soft voice, barely heard between the three of them, Romanus began to pray.

"_Gratias tibi, Deus, protegendo me et fratres mei. Oroo uos nos tuendos in novissimis diebus, quae nos iram Roma. Petimus magistra dilectioni nos tuendos et vero. In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti, Amen._"_  
><em>

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><p>Okay, so the whole thing in Latin translates into: "Thank you, God, for protecting me and my brothers. I pray that You will keep us safe in the days to come, and protect us from Rome's wrath. We ask for Your loving guidence to keep us safe and true. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen. "<p>

Having been raised Protestant (though being not the least bit pious) I possess no knowledge of any Catholic prayers or such. Plus I figured that, as this is the early days of Christianity, those prayers wouldn't be widespread yet.

For an added historical note, Christians in Ancient Rome were...well, let's just say that the ones who died quickly were lucky. It was very dangerous to be a Christian in Rome, especially during the reign of Nero.

Anyway, please review!


	4. The Discovery

*knocked over by the influx of reviews, alerts, and faves* You love me! You really love me! *gives a cookie to each person who review/faved/alerted* ...Though, now I feel kind of bad for what's going to happen...*starts building the bomb shelter*

Disclaimer: I still don't own anything. Though, I **do **have high school graduation coming up in a month; anyone out there feeling particularly generous? Hmmmm?

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><p>Felicianus loved the small cross his brother kept around his neck at all times. The redhead could remember their mother tying the twigs together with a severed lock of her hair, and giving it to them with a kind smile on her face. There, she had said, now you can always keep Christ close to your heart. It was the last thing their mother had touched before the soldiers had burst in, discovering their hiding spot and killing their mother. It was sacred.<p>

To see it lying on the floor, exposed to the unfriendly world around it, had Felicianus stunned. Romanus was just as stunned, dark green eyes staring at the small symbol of their true faith as though it had suddenly become something gruesome, like a bleeding heart freshly ripped out of his own chest. Because that's what the cross was: their heart. It was what had given them strength to keep moving on after they lost everything else.

The young redhead whimpered as a dark aura was emitted from Rome. For what seemed like an eternity that ended all too soon, not a single word was uttered. Then, Rome spoke.

"Romanus. What is that?"

Even a brave man would have cowered before Rome. Romanus wasn't a fool, and there was nothing to be said. Rome knew exactly what the twigs were, and why Romanus would possibly have them. Yet Rome awaited an answer. The eldest of the three brothers took a deep breath and answered.

"It is a crucifix, sir."

"Where did you get it?"

"My mother gave it to me before she was murdered."

Felicianus whimpered. _Frater, please! Run away! Run away before Rome gets you!_

Romanus showed no signs of running, feeling braver than he had ever felt in his life, even when dealing with other orphans as desperate for food as he was. Rome was mighty, and powerful. Any fool knew that. But Romanus was willing to take full responsibility for the perceived wrong, as long as Rome didn't lay a finger on Felicianus and Gratianus.

"Who murdered your mother?"

"Roman soldiers. They were hunting down Christians."

"And what are you?"

"I am a Christian, sir."

Rome's expression was unreadable short of anger. He grabbed Romanus' wrist and began to drag the boy away, not listening to the shrieks of Felicianus and the protests of the mothers and servants. The other children surrounded Felicianus, holding him close and holding him back from chasing after his brother. Words the younger had never uttered before outside of the link with his brother spilled out in choppy sentences.

"Frater! No! No take him! Frater!"

Gratianus wailed in his crib, aware of only two things: his big brother Feli was screaming just as loud, and his big brother Roma was getting uncomfortably far away. Ever since he was born, Feli and Roma had always been close by, close enough that he could practically feel them. Now Feli was very, very upset and Roma was almost completely gone from his senses. Gratianus was scared, and he desperately wailed for big brother Roma to come back and hold him and tell him that everything was going to be okay.

It would be the last time either of the younger brothers would see Romanus for a very, very long time.

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><p>*takes cover in the bomb shelter, helmet on* Please don't kill me! I already feel horrible for what I'm doing to Romano; he's one of my favorite characters! (Having recently snuck his way into my top 5 list.) And with that said, audience poll: I have a few ideas with what to do with the next chapter, but I'd like some input from those reading the story. I can either<p>

A.) Do the entire chapter from Romano's point of view, which would involve some massive self-control on my part because of what exactly I have planned for him,

B.) Do the entire chapter from Feliciano's point of view, which would cast more of a mystery as to what exactly happened to Romano, or

C.) I can mesh the two so that the readers know what's going on, and the ignorance of Feli-kun's side is highlighted. (I'm pretty partial to this one, honestly...)

Let me know what you think in a review! And please don't kill me! It's all for the sake of the plot! I swear!


	5. The Seperation

Gah! Forgive this unworthy writer! For some odd reason, this chapter was a major pain to write. What makes it really weird is that I usually love tormenting my favorite characters until they snap. I must have tried writing this chapter at least six or seven times. *headdesk* What makes it even worse is that I graduate in 2 weeks, so I'm busy keeping my grades up so I don't get my college acceptance revoked and doing all of the senior-related activities seniors are supposed to participate in. So, yeah. It's been a week. It's been a year, actually. I'm ready to graduate.

Anywho, hope you enjoy this bit of fail. It's not quite as dark as I had wanted, but I think it'll be okay...

Disclaimer: ...Since no one has offered it to me, and I am relying on scholarships in order to pay my way through college, I'm pretty sure I'm not the genius behind Hetalia.

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><p><em>Every inch of Romanus hurt—from the scraps and cuts on his feet to the prominent curl of his hair. Even as a street rat, he had never hurt so much. His hands felt sticky with crimson liquid he knew was his own. Every day, Rome would come and demand things from him—always the same questions, always met with the same answers, always followed by some painful form of punishment.<em>

"_What are you, boy?" Rome would demand, his eyes full of the same anti-Christian insanity of his ruler. _

"_I am a Christian!" Romanus would answer, sometimes in a whisper and others in a wild shout. "I am a Christian, and will always be Christian!"_

_Then the pain would come._

In the days that followed Romanus' removal from the household, the remaining brothers were a wretched sight. Felicianus acted like a soulless corpse, showing no interest in anything and staring blankly into space. He shied from Rome, and took to spending his nights curled up with his infant brother, sobbing silently into the younger boy's hair. The child couldn't be persuaded to eat, leading Zosime and Auait to begin force-feeding him.

"This can't go on," Auait muttered as she set aside the half-eaten tray of food. "The boy is going to eat as little as possible until he starves himself to death."

"Rome is irrational, Auait, you know this." Zosime gently stroked Felicianus' hair as she spoke, trying to offer the child some form of comfort. "He won't return Romanus until he's convinced the boy has changed his ways."

Both women sat in silence, wondering what exactly Rome was putting the eldest brother through, but shivering in horrified fury at the very plausible scenarios. Neither had ever felt much love for Rome (who could possibly love the man who conquered their lands, when through it all the only lights in their lives were the sons that would soon replace them?) and they both knew just how cruel their lord and master could be.

Taking another look at the fitfully sleeping child, Auait made up her mind. "Zosime, you know what we must do."

_Romanus didn't know what happened to the small cross he had carried so lovingly. He prayed either Felicianus or Gratianus had it. Someone who knew its true worth and treated it accordingly. His back was raw and sore and exposed to the chilly dampness of his cell, and his silent prayers were the only thing that sustained him. Even as his body weakened from lack of food and sunlight, Romanus refused to let go of his faith. It was the last part of his parents he had, and to give it up meant to destroy himself._

"_What are you?"_

"_I am Christian."_

_The sting of the whip on his flesh and the rapid prayers in his mind were the only things he was conscious of. _

They included Persia in the ritual.

Honestly, it was probably a stupid move that would result in more pain for everyone involved, but Persia was the only other woman who knew of the Deep Magicks, and they needed her to complete the Chalice. Germania and Scandinavia had accepted the mothers' requests and China had agreed to take the final place in the Blade. Egypt had spent the dark hours of night tracing the runes on to the chamber floor, lines drawn from ashes infused with the Deep Magicks.

Now, it was the hour of truth. Felicianus was asleep in the middle of the space created by the combined Chalice and Blade. The eyes of the participants never met as the ritual began, and the light began to come from the ashen runes.

_Romanus didn't know how long he had been locked away. He was forgetting things now. What was sunlight? What was warmth? The only things he knew for certain were the darkness and the cold and the pain. Always pain. He could scarcely recall life without the pain. The only thing that kept him sane was the knowledge that his little brothers were still out there, out in sunlight and warmth. If keeping them there meant he would stay in the darkness and cold with nothing but pain for company, he could accept his fate. _

"_What are you?"_

"_I am Christian."_

_He expected pain. But now, there was no pain. Gentle hands touched his wounded flesh and he felt warmth and saw light. Delicate hands broke the chains that had him bound. Tender arms wrapped around him and held him close. An angelic voice whispered kind and loving words to him. Romanus opened his eyes to see a golden, beautiful face. It couldn't be possible, he had to be hallucinating. _

"_Rest now, Little One, for the LORD is with you, and shall always be with you."_

_Romanus slept._

Germania and Scandinavia left as soon as the ritual ended, but China stayed. China was young still, hardly a man but the only one that would come to them so quickly. He held Gratianus and played games with the toddler, occasionally sneaking glances to the bed where Felicianus slept. The women took turns watching the child, ensuring he not wake for the three required days. It was Persia's turn.

"I hear this was your first ritual."

China nodded.

"Speak, boy. I am not allowed to take my eyes off of the brat and so cannot see you nod."

"_Shi de_, Lady Persia. This was my first ritual."

"Did Asia teach you the Deep Magicks?"

"_M__ǔ__qī__n _made sure I knew about them. She taught me all she knew."

"I doubt that. Continents revealed all of their secrets to no one. She taught you all you needed to know, that is all."

"Do you think the ritual will help him?"

Persia said nothing for a moment, sitting up straight as she watched Felicianus. Wringing out the washcloth and placing it on the child's head, she answered softly.

"Only time shall tell."

_When Rome came again, he collapsed against the wall in shock. Instead of finding the boy chained and bleeding, Rome saw his eldest grandson lying on a clean cloth in the middle of the filth, his wounds beginning to heal. A soft glow surrounded the child, and for the first time in his existence, Rome felt himself in the presence of something greater than himself. Horrified at what he had done, the empire buried his face in his hands and begged for forgiveness._

_Conflicted, not trusting himself to touch the boy and yet not trusting anyone else to, Rome picked up the unconscious boy with all the gentleness of a parent. The wounds would scar…mark the boy permanently. So young and yet so horribly marked…by his own blood, no less! For the first time in his life, Rome truly felt like a monster. _

_Arriving at the elaborate suite he stayed during times of war, Rome set Romanus down the bed and gently stroked the child's hair._

"_Tantopere me paenitet__, __Romanus__." (I am so sorry, Romanus.)_

The ritual had been a success. When Felicianus woke up, he remembered nothing of his previous life. His young mind was a blank slate, no memories of his past. The memories were far from gone, of course, but they were securely looked away with chains of runes and ancient spells.

"You performed the Deep Magicks without consulting me?"

Zosime sighed. "Yes, Rome. We had no other choice; the boy was determined to starve himself to death despite our best efforts and we knew trying to convince you to restore Romanus to the household would be impossible—because you weren't in a proper state of mind—so we did what the circumstances demanded."

Rome deflated at Greece's sharp rebuke of his prior actions, knowing very well just how badly he had screwed up. "So, he remembers nothing?"

Another sigh, accompanied by a shake of her head. "No. He doesn't remember his brothers, or his parents. We sealed his memories away with his birth name, so he is to be called Feliciano at all times. Or better yet, call him by his nation name: Italia Veneziano."

* * *

><p>So, yeah...sorry for the massive fail. The ancients are going to have a pretty big role for the next chapter. I'm pretty excited about. :D<p>

Also, the ritual mentioned in this chapter is, to my knowledge, completely my own invention. The Chalice mentioned is the ancient symbol of womanhood just as the Blade is the ancient symbol of manhood. Both are real symbols, and I've probably just bastardized their actual purpose. *hangs head* Forgive me. I fail on a regular basis.

Oh, **Audience Poll!** I'm debating whether or not to bring in a personification of Vatican City. Would anyone like to see Vatican City in future chapters? Let me know in a review!

Once again, sorry for the fail. I'll do better next time! *strikes dramatic hero pose*


	6. The Beginning

Here it is, Chapter 6! This one flowed a little easier than the last, so I'm hoping it pleases you all as much as the previous fail did. (If not more.) What's really odd about this chapter is that I spent all day doing Placement Testing for college, and still this flowed well. Hm. Strange.

Disclaimer: My lawyer told me that I do not (and most likely never will) own Hetalia. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go pay a visit to my cozy little Emo Corner.

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><p>Veneziano didn't like Sadiq. The older boy was almost always teasing him and pulling on his curl. Young Italy usually did his best to stay away from the teenaged nation.<p>

Today, however, Veneziano found himself between the proverbial rock and hard place. Veneziano was hungry and wanted to go to the kitchens to see if one of the cooks would make him one of those yummy noodle dishes he had taken a strong liking to. However, there was just one small problem with that: there was only one passage from the children's quarters to the kitchen, and Sadiq was sitting in it. Persia's son was sitting against the wall, half-hidden by the pillars. He had his knees pulled up against his chest and his face was buried in the space between. His shoulders shook a little, like he was crying. As much as he didn't like the darker boy, the young nation felt a sudden sense of concern towards him.

"Ve…what's wrong? What happened, Sadiq?"

"Go away, brat of Rome. Leave me be," Sadiq snapped, the harshness muffled by his refusal to lift his head.

"But I want to help! I can't help if I don't know what's wrong!"

"There is nothing you can do! Now leave me alone!" Sadiq shouted, snapping out of his huddled state and violently shoving the other country to the ground. The son of Persia was gone in a flurry of dark crimson.

Slowly sitting up and rubbing the growing bump on his head, Veneziano sniffed. "What's bothering him?"

* * *

><p>Eight years, eleven months, and twenty-seven days.<p>

That was how long Romanus had been cooped up in the fort, forbidden from leaving the ornate rooms Rome had deposited him in after finally releasing him from that cold, dark hell. It was infuriating to the young boy to have been locked away for so long. And the worst part of it all? He looked exactly the same as he did before he was dragged away. His body, which should have aged into that of a boy entering puberty, was still the body of a five-year-old.

"How's my little Roma today?"

Romanus suppressed a shudder as Rome entered the room, all smiles and laughs and flowing red capes. Nearly nine years later, and Romanus was still fighting back instincts learned during his initial captivity.

"I'm okay." _Bored as all hell, though…_

"That's good. Here, I brought some more food! Oh, your brother's taken quite a liking to this. He's started calling it pasta. So cute!"

…And so it began. Rome's visits were becoming less and less about seeing how Romanus was doing and more and more about how cute and wonderful Felicianus was. Hell, Rome even talked about Gratianus more than he did about Romanus. What made things even worse was that now Rome was using all of these weird names. He had started calling Felicianus Veneziano, and Gratianus had become Graziano. It had taken months for Romanus to figure out who was who, because Rome had bothered to explain the sudden name changes to him.

"Romano? Are you listening to me?"

Realizing Rome was talking to him (he still wasn't sure if he liked his name being changed to Romano…), Romanus's head shot up, eyes wide. "Um, s-sorry. I must have dozed off…"

Rome smiled. "It's nothing to worry about! Now, as I was saying, I think you've been here long enough."

The young boy blinked and looked up at his grandfather, startled at the man's words. Was it finally going to happen? Was Romanus finally going to be reunited with his brothers? He almost didn't dare get his hopes up, but Rome looked completely serious about it…

"I have?"

"Of course! I've been planning to take your brothers with me on a tour around the empire. One day I'm not going to be around, and you boys will have to take my place, after all. So why wait to start training you?"

Romanus again repressed the urge to shudder. "Training" had been how the empire had originally described Romanus's initial incarceration. It had been the empire's insane idea to "retrain" him in the pagan beliefs—all while destroying Romanus's Christian beliefs. Hail Mother Mary, it didn't work. The young boy considered it a sign of God's loving mercy that Rome had suddenly decided to release him from the torture. Maybe his mother and father had had a hand in it…wasn't that a lovely thought?

"Spacing out again, are we?"

Jumping, Romanus scrambled to find a reply. Rome let out a roaring laugh at his eldest grandson's obvious discomfort.

"For the last time, Roma: don't worry. I'm not angry with you. You're probably just overflowing with excitement at seeing your brothers again. It's been so long, hasn't it?" Something about Rome's expression was off. Instead of the annoying, seemingly ever-present cheer, a sad, weathered look took control. Rome suddenly seemed so much older, recalling sorrowful and bittersweet memories.

"You look so much like your father, do you know that? You have your mother's eyes though…"

This was what Romanus had been waiting to hear. Every time he had brought up his parents, Rome had waved his questions away, telling him to save them for a later date. Now, Rome had brought the topic up. To Romanus, that meant it was fair game.

"Could you tell me a little about them? My parents?"

"There's not really much to tell, Roma. Your father was my son, but I'm sad to admit that I wasn't much of a father to him. His mother raised him; I probably only saw a few times in his life, and spoke to him even less."

"Were they human? Or were they…like us?"

"Your mother was human. A powerful, competent warrior who hardly spent a year in my house before running off with your father. But your father…no one quite knows what he was. A human and a nation had never created a child together before. Some of the servants called him something like a demigod, but somehow I don't feel that's quite right." Rome sighed and looked away, caught up in memories he had never even thought to cherish until recently.

"I know why you're asking me questions, Romano. You want to know why you haven't gotten any older, even though by now you should have the body of a boy entering the change into adulthood."

"I'm fourteen years old, Grandfather. I shouldn't look like I'm five."

"I suppose it's time to tell you the entire story, then. You might want to make yourself comfortable; it's a very long story."

* * *

><p>She was dying.<p>

Zosime could feel it in her bones. Taking a look at her fellow mothers, she knew they felt it too. Their time to leave the world was fast approaching, meaning they had one final task to complete.

Amardad had taken her children and locked them in her chambers in order to give them whatever bits of knowledge she could before her body finally wore out. Auait kept Gupta by her side at all times, teaching him her Magicks as well as how one became a great country. The Greek woman, however, had already taught her son everything he needed to know. She had taught him which herbs cured which aliments, which materials made the sturdiest weapons, which words avoided wars and which words created them. She had taught him all she knew about the gods, every myth and tale she could remember from the birth of the Titans to little moral tales such as the story of King Midas. Everything she had to offer her son, just short of his own land, Zosime had already given him.

It did not escape her notice, however, that two certain young boys were without mentors. They had no mother or father to teach them about healing or ancient tales or train them in the arts of war. They lacked parents who could teach them who to become good and wise nations. Rome had been avoided the issue like some sort of hideous disease, convinced that he would never die. So, it seemed to be up to Zosime to teach the boys what they would need to know.

"Feliciano, Graziano. May I have a word with you?"

The two heirs of Rome looked up from their game and then scrambled over to her. "What is it, Mama Greece?"

"Come with me. Time is slowly slipping away from me, and it seems that I have much to teach you both."

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><p>So, the next few chapters are going to be dedicated to explaining more about the Italy brothers' origins. I'm having a blast writing them, and I hope you'll enjoy reading them just as much. And, sadly, the ancients are going to be going away once this arc is done. Then it's on to modern history and more angst! :D shot

As for why it's Ancient Greece teaching Feli and Grazi...well, Roman and Greek culture did intertwine extremely heavily. C'mon, the Roman Empire practically _stole_ all of Greece's gods and goddesses. So it make sense! ...Right? /shot

I'm hoping to have the next chapter up by the end of the month, since I'm hitting a lull this upcoming week. Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Please review!


	7. The Warrior

-wailing like North Italy- GAH! I AM SO SORRY, GUYS! I HAD THIS CHAPTER FINISHED WEEKS AGO, BUT THEN I HAD A BUNCH OF STUFF TO DO FOR COLLEGE AND MY OCD COMPLEX FLARED UP AND-(gets smack in the face by a random fish) ...Thanks. I needed that.

Well, now that I have that out of my system, we can get on to the main event. For those of you who still bother to read this chronicle of failure, I send out my deepest apologies for making you wait so long. Also, I hope this chapter is worth the wait. (I've developed quite a thing for the Italy brothers' mom. She's so much fun to write!)

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. If I had, this story (read: a far better version of it) would be canon. Which, as it only exists here and in my mind, is not the case.

Enjoy!

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><p>"I'll start with your mother, Romano. She's what got everything started. I'm sure you're aware of the…odd relationship Germania and I have shared over the years?"<p>

Romanus nodded, beginning to toy with the tassels on the corner of the pillow he was holding. The blonde man was terrifying, but there was something about him that made Romano feel _safe_, somehow. Something about his face reminded the young boy of the mother he had adored.

"Well, it was during a time when we were a little less friendly towards each other. We fought almost constantly, and it often cost us quite a lot…"

_A young warrior let out a mighty battle cry as he led his fellow warriors against Roman soldiers. Swords clashed and clanged against each other and numerous shields. They had forced the Romans to abandon their strong defensive ranks by luring them into the thick forests of their home. Here, the Germanic warriors had the advantage. It was an advantage their young leader fully exploited._

_As the bodies became thicker, the Romans began to retreat. Full of excitement and pride, the young warrior doubled his efforts, robbing several more Romans of their disgusting lives until all of the cowards had fled back to their wretched cities. As the last Roman vanished, the Germanic warriors let out wild calls of victory. They had won the battle, and were that much closer to finishing off the Roman bastards for good. _

"_Come, my men, let us give our dead their honors and return to our families with tales of victory!" _

_The men shouted their approval of their leader's suggestion, setting to work digging graves for their fallen comrades. There was little sorrow, as each man had died a worthy death. The Germanic warriors took no prisoners, as evidence by the gross overpopulation of Roman dead strewn over the battlefield. Their leader was fearless, as was to be expected of any Germanic prince. However, there was something very different about _this_ particular prince…_

"_Wilkommen zu Hause, Prinzessin Adala!" ("Welcome home, Princess Adala!")  
><em>

_The leader removed his helmet, allowing a long braid of thick red hair to fall out, trailing down a back that suddenly seemed more feminine. The young warrior's face was narrow, made of lines far too delicate for a man. The leader was no Germanic prince…the leader was a Germanic princess…_

"They called your mother the "Demon Witch of Germania". I can't even begin to tell you how many soldiers I lost due to my generals underestimating her. Germania used to lord it over me during our battles, saying how only one of his daughters could destroy thousands of my sons." Rome scowled at the memory. "It seems cruel of me to say this, and I know you'll probably hate me forever, but I was ecstatic when she was finally captured."

_Furious screams and the sounds of metal and glass smashing to the ground announced the arrival of his generals and their latest captive. A dark look rested on the Roman Empire's face. Would it really be her? The Germanic Witch? Or would it just be another case of his generals being too stupid to pick out the right woman? _

"_Lord Rome, we have her. We have finally captured that barbarian witch!" The general shouted as he flung open the doors._

_Several soldiers struggled to drag in a woman who was clearly struggling with all of her might. They all but flung her to the ground, keeping a firm grip on her, as they presented their find to their powerful empire. The captive woman glared at Rome, dark green eyes burning with vicious hatred under wild curls of brilliant red hair. She snarled at him, her struggles renewed as she looked upon the face of her enemy. _

Kill,_ her body screamed, _Destroy Rome!

_Rome was intrigued, hopeful, even. The other women his generals had brought before him had quivered in their prison garb, terrified of the powerful man before them. This woman seemed to want nothing more than the chance to rip out his beating heart and squash it beneath her feet. Her eyes promised a thousand deaths, each more painful and bloody than the last, should she find freedom. _

"_Are you the infamous Regina Adela?" (Regina Adela = Princess Adala)  
><em>

"_Ich bin deine Zerstoerin!" She snarled, jerking and twisting from the hands that held her back.("I am your destroyer!)  
><em>

_Rome frowned. While he knew well what she had said—countless skirmishes with Germania left him with a grasp of the language—he refused to let her know he did._

"_I'm sorry, but I don't speak barbarian. Shall we try again? Are you Regina Adela?"_

_She spat a vicious curse at him, slamming a powerful kick into the knee of one of her captors. The man crumpled, and Adela took full advantage of it. She quickly shoved off her suppressors and stole a sword. Without missing a beat, she charged at Rome. He drew his own sword and moved to defend himself. As if expecting it, she jumped away from him and whirled her sword around to make contact with his side. Rome had moved fast enough to prevent the blow from being deadly, but she had still taken a sizable chunk out of his side. Adela lunged forward again, but was stopped by the soldiers who had recovered from her brief escape. _

_A vicious scream tore from the warrior princess's throat as they dragged her away from her enemy. _

"_Sir, what should we do with her?"_

_Rome held his bleeding side. "Lock her away. Let's see if we can't get her to respect her betters."_

Romanus clung to his pillow, trembling as Rome told his story. His mother had been a fierce warrior whose sole purpose had been to destroy Rome? Every time the boy tried to picture his mother as a fearless warrior, he could only remember the gentle hands and loving smile. The hands that had held him so gently and lovingly soothed away every hurt he remembered, had once been stained with the lifeblood of countless Romans? He couldn't even picture it in his most horrific nightmares.

"She was your enemy?"

Rome nodded. "Ever since she could fight, she had sworn her life to fighting against me. I don't know how he did it, but somehow your father managed to bring the woman out of that savage shell…"

_She was a newcomer to the household. Timæus watched the beautiful woman being escorted by several guards to his father's chambers. Red curls flickered like flawless rubies in the candlelight, her skin pale against the pristine white of her toga. She must be one of his father's new toys, if the style of her dress had any weight in the issue. She was in chains, and smoldering anger radiated in her aura. _

_The young man made his way back to the apartments he shared with his mother, the woman he had seen still on his mind. Who was she? He knew his father would often take women as prizes won in conquest, but never had he seen one who had such obvious hatred. The other women used sobbed silently as they were led to their fate, but she still continued to fight. _

"_You have been out late, my son. Is there any reason why?" _

_Rachel was a beautiful woman, even in her increasing years. Taken from her home years ago as a political prisoner, she had survived decades in the household of the Roman Empire. Dark curls poured out from the plain cloth wrapped loosely around her head. Dressed in shades of blue that matched her eyes, Rachel gave off a calm and dignified aura. Her fingers deftly worked the loom she wove upon as she patiently awaited her only son's answer._

"_Forgive me; Leontinus kept me later than I had wanted. The stables have gained several new horses and they needed my help getting them settled."_

"_Animals always have found a friend in you," she said with a smile as she completed a row. "Is there any reason the stables have gained so many new horses?"_

"_Haven't you heard? Father's armies have dealt a huge blow against the barbarians. I've been told that they even captured the barbarians' leader."_

"_Well, that certainly is exciting news, isn't it?" Timæus didn't miss the frown on his mother's face. _

"_You don't seem very happy to hear it, Mother."_

_Rachel sighed, setting her work aside for the night. "My son, I am growing old in this gilded prison you call home. The closest I have come to freedom since my childhood has been the walks I take in the gardens. I am no wife and yet I am a mother. Do you know what victory for one side means for the other?"_

_Timæus didn't answer. He knew, and while Rachel knew that he did, she would still explain it. _

"_Young girls are ripped away from their families and friends, taken away as spoils of war and given to soldiers to do with them what they will. In my life I have been extremely fortunate. Rome is not a cruel master, and I praise God every day for that blessing. Other girls, however, have no such fortune. They are turned into slaves meant to satisfy the darkest pleasures of men. They face cruel masters and even crueler slaves. The cycle of pain continues until all within it are miserable."_

_Rising from her seat, Rachel stretched her stifle muscles. In her ever-increasing age, her body was becoming less and less able to handle things she once did without thought as a young woman. _

"_Sometimes, my son, the animals have better fortune than the humans. That is the nature of war, and the nature of the masters of this palace. I shall pray tonight for the souls of all of the children whose fates have been so drastically and horrifically changed this day. You best do the same."_

Romanus mulled over everything Rome was telling him. He was still shocked from the revelation that his mother had been a bloodthirsty Germanic warrior hell-bent on the destruction of Rome. What had changed her so much that she fell in love with a Roman man? What had changed in less than a year that would lead to his mother's willingness to marry his father and have him and his brothers?

"Your father had taken a strong interest in her, so I decided to place her in his service…"

_Adala glared bitterly at the floor, as though it were to blame for all of her woes. After only a few days of attempts to "train" her, she was pleased that the mighty Rome had apparently given up on her. Well, perhaps "given up" wasn't the correct term…_

_The man before her was practically the spitting image of her captor. Though, something about him seemed more…tolerable than Rome. This glorified boy was to be her master? Adala snorted a little at the thought; as if any wealthy Roman boy could possibly hope to claim lordship over a proud warrior of her bloodline. A Germanic warrior, bowing to a Roman bastard so easily? Ha! The concept was laughable even at its most serious._

"_So, are you really the infamous Adela? The Demon Witch of Germania?"_

_Adala gave him the driest expression she could must, questioning his mental state. Demon Witch? Really? Was that as creative as the Roman mongrels got? She was neither a demon nor a witch! Couldn't the Romans accept that women could fight just as well as any man? She was a strong warrior, powerful and highly respected among the members of her tribe. To be called a demon _and_ a witch? Now that was just insulting._

"_Ich bin nicht eine Hexe oder ein Dämon. Ich bin eine Kriegerin."("I am neither a witch nor a demon. I am a warrior.")  
><em>

_Timæus blinked, not understanding a word she had said. "Can you speak Latin? I can't speak your language, so I don't really know what you said."_

_Adala sighed and rolled her eyes. Romans. If the world didn't live to serve them they would make it serve them. Such arrogant buffoons. They couldn't even capture her honorably, on a proper field of battle; no, they ambushed her while she bathed and her weapons lay neatly set aside. _

"_You Romans are all same. You never bother to learn words of others." _

"_So you can speak Latin. And well!"_

"_First rule of battle: know opponent."_

"_Could you teach me your language? I know Father says that it is the language of heathens, but I think I'd like to talk to you in your language, especially since you can talk to me in mine."_

_Adala blinked. She had never encountered a Roman who actually wanted to learn her language…unless they wanted to use it against her people. Her warrior's instincts flared, and she immediately shoved him to the ground. Straddling him, her hands at his throat, she glared at him. _

"_You want learn my speak? Why? You hurt my friends? Meine Familie? Nein!" ("My family? Never!")  
><em>

"_No! I just want to know more about you. If we're going to be living together, I want to know all I can about you. Not just your language. I'm not much of a soldier."_

_Adala could feel her body trembling slightly. This man—a Roman bastard—wanted to learn about her? Her culture and ways and home? There had to be some ulterior motive; Romans were not known for their undying curiosity. Leave the pursuit of knowledge and reason to the Greeks. Against her better judgment, something possessed her to let go of the man. She backed away from him as if she had suddenly learned he was carrying some horrific disease. _

_This man…he terrified her as much as he infuriated her. But, there was something else there…what kind of man was he, to show genuine interest in her past? _

* * *

><p>Fail!chapter is extremely fail. (headdesk) I think Ancient Greece will be next chapter's flashback narrator. Oh, and for those of you who like my Vatican City idea, Vatican should be showing up in the next couple of chapters.<p>

Please read and review. _  
><em>


	8. The Fire

**...I really do suck, don't I? I apologize profusely to those of you who are still sticking this out. Somehow during the summer my previous copy of this chapter got lost and then I moved and ugh. It's been a rough few months. I know; excuses, excuses...**

**Anyway, let me start off by saying that this went in a sort of different way than I had originally planned. And I think I like this better than how it started. From now on, I'll be branching into more modern history. (Weeell, this side of Rome modern...)**

**As mentioned in EVERY OTHER CHAPTER I'VE POSTED, I do not own Hetalia. Obviously, I am not genius enough for that. **

**I hope this makes up for my absence. It's almost 3,000 words on Word. ^_^**

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><p><em>It started with a kiss. <em>

_Adala furrowed her brow in frustrated concentration as she took her ever-present anger out on the tiles of one of the rooms in the suite Tim__æ__us shared with his mother (and herself). One of her favorite cleaning methods involved pretending the filth was Rome's face. (Scrubbing it away made her feel a little better, but she still longed the beat the actual thing into a bloody, unrecognizable pulp.) It would make her kinsmen proud that all of her thoughts centered on causing Rome agony. She had even taken to creating detailed plans in her head as to how she would murder him. Now all that remained was selecting the best one and implementing it. Then she could escape through the hole in the palace's security and return to her kinsmen with Rome's head on her belt. _

_Suddenly, the former warrior (still warrior) felt the burning of someone's eyes on her person. She looked up and over her shoulder to see the spoiled brat Rome called a son. (Spoiled, even though he had been nothing but kind to her since she was given to him. He was Roman; no Roman knew true hardship.) _

"_Vhat are you staring at?"_

_Tim__æ__us smiled at her, a shit-eating grin that made Adala want to shove the rag down his throat. Or choke him with it. Or both. Both was good. _

"_You. The floor is so shiny it's like you're sitting on a mirror."_

_Adala rolled her eyes. Romans were so difficult to understand—there seemed to be no sensible logic to their thought process, and the only things they were concerned about were food, wine, and women. Trying to carry on an intelligent conversation was like trying to turn clay bricks into gold jewelry: impossible. _

_Before the redheaded German even knew what was happening, Tim__æ__us was cupping her chin with his hand and staring into her eyes. Without really giving the startled girl time to react, the Roman placed a gentle kiss on her lips. The kiss lasted for only a moment, but to both of them it felt like forever. As Tim__æ__us pulled away, he gave her a loving smile._

"_You're really beautiful, Adela. I would love to have you as my wife someday."_

_Adala could only watch as he got up and walked away, stunned at the sudden turn of events. She slowly put her fingertips to her lips, which were still tingling. It took a few more moments before she shook her head and clenched the fabric of her dress above where her heart was. _

"_Ridiculous." _

Romano (he had to start calling himself that now; Rome was insistent on it to the point of making the boy flashback to his days in captivity) wanted to be a good older brother. After all, that was what he had promised his mother years ago when he was still so young. His brothers were his world; take them away, and Romano was nothing. Just another orphan with nothing left to lose.

So when Rome announced that he would be taking the three on a tour of the empire, Romano nearly fainted with joy. It had been so long since he had seen his brothers. How had they aged, if they had aged at all? Were they eating properly? Did they still pray regularly to God? Was Feliciano able to speak more now? Had Gratiano started talking yet? Was his youngest brother walking now? Were they doing okay without him? Would they still remember him?

That last question just about killed him. Romano spent many sleepless nights tossing and turning over the fear that in his absence, his brothers had somehow forgotten him. Feliciano could be so absentminded at times, and Gratiano had been so young when Romano was taken away. Would he have to introduce himself to them, telling them his name and that he was their older brother? Remind them of things they should already know, _would_ know if it hadn't been for Rome?

Sadly, there was very little for Romano to do to quell his fears but count down the days to Rome's arrival. He tried countless times to imagine his reunion with his beloved little brothers, imagine holding them close and swearing he'd never let them be separated again. Promise them their fratello would always be there for them, that he would never leave. Nothing short of untimely death would be able to rip Romano away from Feliciano and Gratiano.

Absolutely nothing.

_Rachel's God was interesting, Adala had to admit. She was used to the stoic and strong gods of the natural world. Growing up, Adala had been told tales of the gods who inhabited rivers and lakes, who held dominion over the mountains and forests, who made the skies their homes. The idea of a single God for the entire world…it was an interesting concept. The mother of her "master" was more than willing to indulge the warrior princess in tales about the all-knowing, all-powerful God and His Kingdom of Heaven. _

"_So, this Jesus person was willingly crucified in order to have all humans forgiven of their sins?"_

_Rachel nodded as she started a new row on her loom. "Yes. The Lamb of God lived a perfect life free from sin and corruption. In his pure, innocent blood, all who believe and ask the Lord's forgiveness will be forgiven and given a place in His Heavenly Kingdom."_

_Adala nodded as she took in the information. She was no stranger to concepts of an afterlife; her people had such beliefs themselves._

"_Heaven seems to be an odd place."_

"_Odd? How so?"_

"_For my people, the afterlife is not some glorious utopia filled with angels and pure happiness. We believe that when one dies, his or her energy goes to the world around us. For example, if I died, my energy—or soul, as you call it—might go to some seeds and become anything from a beautiful flower to a sturdy tree. Or it could become part of the river that waters our crops and sustains our lives. Everything is connected in a never-ending cycle. Our heaven is here, returning to our beloved Mother Earth when our bodies can no longer take our energy. It is a form of comfort to us, to know that the lives of our kinsmen did not simply disappear; that they live on in the world around us."_

_Rachel smiled at her. "That's a beautiful theory, Adela. I suppose Heaven would sound odd when all you know is that story. And your Latin has greatly improved."_

_Adala groaned at the compliment. "Do not remind me! I am not happy with that fact. Latin is a terrible language. Being able to speak it well is not a gift, it is a curse."_

_The mother smiled and giggled a bit at the younger girl's complaining. She decided not to point out that the young slave's language sounded far more barbaric and evil than Latin, to the point that it seemed that everyone who spoke it was angry. Adala must have caught some part of that thought, as she gave Rachel a sour look and picked up a pillow._

"_My language is one of strength! What the Romans call barbaric and angry, my people know is solid and stable. Far better than the weakness of Latin!" Adala punctuated each statement by gently hitting Rachel with the pillow, causing the older woman to burst out laughing. _

"Persia left us last night."

Rome looked over his shoulder to see Auait, a stubborn strength masking the obvious tiredness of her kohl-lined eyes. The Egyptian woman was leaning against the doorway into the stables, strands of short, impossibly straight black hair danced softly in the gentle breeze.

"I thought you hated her."

"I did, to a degree. You know well that hate among our kind is a rare thing. We live far too long to afford to hate each other. Dislike, yes, but rarely hate."

The empire smiled at her. "And in summary, you disliked her."

Auait looked over at some saddles, her dark brown eyes murky and distant. Not once throughout her captivity had Rome ever been able to decipher what went on behind those eyes. It was a point of pride Auait would take with her on her approaching journey to the afterlife.

"Her eldest left this morning, and he took his siblings with him."

Rome sighed. "You don't sound at all surprised."

"Why should I be? Sadiq is his mother's son. There's hardly a trace of you in him at all." Auait heaved a sigh as she tore her gaze from whatever it had focused on and returned it to her captor. "He will become strong one day. I fear it will be in his desire to take after you."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

Auait fixed with him with a lightly scorching gaze. "In that boy, it is. I wish you well on your trip, Rome. I doubt Greece and I will be here upon your return."

_For such a normally stoic woman, she was surprisingly sensitive. Tim__æ__us smirked against the soft skin of Adala's neck as he lightly nipped the creamy flesh. The redhead swallowed a gasp, tightening her grip on his shoulders. To cry out under a Roman's touches—to admit that he gave her pleasure—it would be the final indignity. He could touch every last bit of her body, take her until he collapsed from exhaustion, but she would refuse to voice any of it. Adala would not encourage his lust. _

"_Let me hear you, Adela. I want to hear every sound you make."_

_His hand tangled itself in the red locks, cupping the back of her head as he pulled her into another deep kiss. Adala's eyes narrowed, turning a dangerous dark green as she automatically fought for dominance in the display of affection. Her heart was slamming against her ribcage, almost trying to merge with the equally frantically beating heart of the Roman. Something deep within her was screaming at her to get closer to him, to eliminate any distance between them. The hand that wasn't currently tangled in her hair drifted down to her hips, and an image formed in her mind. An image of a couple of boys, one with her brilliant red locks and his golden eyes, the other with his dark curls and her green eyes. Adala shoved him away, staring at him with something akin to horror in her eyes. _

_He looked at her with shock and confusion in his golden eyes. "Adala…? What?"_

_The Germanic woman bolted away, unable to get rid of the image of two small boys…her sons…_

_His sons._

"Nonno, where are we going?"

Rome smiled down at his youngest grandsons. "We're going to go get your older brother."

Little Veneziano looked up at Rome, his eyes closed as always. Rome wondered how the child functioned without seeing…had something gone wrong in the ritual that had left the boy blind? A small frown etched its way onto the large Roman's man, and Veneziano shifted a little.

"Nonno, why are you frowning? Is something wrong?"

That question made Rome feel a little better; if Veneziano could see him frowning, then the child could not be blind. So, Rome quickly exchanged the frown for a smile and reassured his grandson that everything was fine. Veneziano accepted the man's assurance, but something deep inside him told him that something was indeed wrong. Rome just wouldn't say it.

_Tim__æ__us didn't even know why he suggested it. Well, maybe that was the wrong wording. He had suggested running away because he wanted to spend the rest of his life with the fiery redhead even his father couldn't tame. Though, the only reason he had suggested it now was because of the information Adala had just given him: she was with child. His child. The thought of his beautiful Adala carrying a tiny new life that he helped create…it made him want to be with her even more. _

"_What? Run away? Tim__æ__us, have you lost your mind?"_

_Adala, unlike Tim__æ__us, was terrified out of her mind and full of self-loathing. She was never meant to be a mother—even the half-mad mystic back home told her she belonged on the battlefield instead of in the home. She had been terrified to let Tim__æ__us get so close for this very reason; but in a night full of short-sighted decisions, she had. And now she had to deal with the consequences._

"_Adela," he said softly as he took her hand, looking into those beautiful green eyes, "I know it sounds crazy, but we both know what will happen if my father finds out. As a slave, you'll be made an example of. I can't stand to see you hurt for something I did. I know how reluctant you were to go so far, but I convinced you."_

"_Enough! Listen to me, you idiot. I may have been reluctant, but I still allowed that night to happen. You did the unforgivable: you saw me at my weakest. I should have killed you that morning, but something stopped me. I don't know how or why, but as a result of your incessant prodding, I've started to feel for you. I don't know if its what you'd call love, but—"_

_Before Adala could continue, Tim__æ__us cut her off with a kiss. So she truly did feel something for him. He didn't need it to be love—even if it hurt him, he could be happy so long as she felt something for him. He loved her so much, and was perfectly willing to give her all of the time and space she needed. _

"_Marry me, Adela."_

_Dark green eyes looked into golden brown. For the first time in her life, Adala found herself unable to say no._

It was uncomfortably warm, and it was getting harder to breathe. Romano groaned as he pulled himself into wakefulness. The sight that greeted his eyes was horrific. Flames were everywhere, and for a moment Romano was certain he had died and ended up in the Burning Inferno. Was he being punished because he hadn't been able to take care of his brothers? The more panicked he became, the harder it was to breathe. Romano forced himself to calm down, and got out of the bed he had been napping on.

Mere seconds after he had moved, a burning wooden beam crashed onto the bed. Romano shrieked and slammed against the wall. The fear had completely set in, every nerve ending in his body screaming at him to run, to get out of the flames as soon as possible. Romano couldn't tear his eyes away from the bed that could have very well have become his funeral pyre, even as his legs started inching towards the door. He had to find a way out. Rome and his brothers would arrive soon, and Romano had to at least see his brothers one last time.

The smoke was thick, curling around everything and choking Romano with each breath he took. At this rate, he would pass out before he found an exit. But he couldn't pass out; if he did, then he'd probably burn to death…it was ironic, really. Rome had snapped out of his Christian-hunting mindset and Romano was still going to perish in flames. The boy would have let out a bitter laugh if he had the wits about him to do so.

A sudden burst of cool air hit his face, and Romano froze for a moment. Then he blindly rushed towards, hardly registering the burns his exposed flesh was receiving as he ran through flames and stepped on cinders and ashes. Cool air meant a way out, and a way out meant a way to survive. So Romano didn't care when he felt himself falling. All that mattered was that he was out of the scorching heat of the fire and surrounded by the blessedly cool air of the outside world. He faintly registered raindrops as a storm was rolling in.

Romano had blacked out before his body smashed into the muddy earth.

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><p><strong>...Yep. I just technically killed Romano. LUCKILY, he's a nation now and therefore headcanon says he'll be alright in a few hours. Personally, my headcanon kind of diverges here. Sometimes I'll write it so that Rome knowingly left Romano behind so he could train in order to better protect his brothers, and other times it will be like this. <strong>

**Also...I've been dropping quite a few hints as to where the story is going to go in future chapters. I hope I've been sneaky about it, so that it's a surprise, but I apologize if that's not the case. **

**Once again, thank you to any and all of you who were patient. I'll plan to be more regular about updating, but I was a massive idiot (on par with Spain, to be frank) and took a full class schedule my first semester of college. Why? Because I'm a masochistic idiot who wants her freaking GenEds out of the way so she can get to the good stuff! I hate Math and Gym, damnit! (Thank God I only have to take one semester of each. As far as I know.)**

**Anyway, please read and review!**


	9. The Failure

**Hello all. I am terribly, terribly sorry about how long this took to put up. Let's just say college is a time-consuming adventure. That and my creativity decided to take an extended vacation without alerting me beforehand. That being said, I hope this chapter is up to snuff with those of you still bothering to read this massive pile of fail.**

**Also, some historical notes: During the time of the Italian Wars, northern Italy was a collection of small states with Milan and Venice (and to some extent Florence) acting as the "leaders". Southern Italy, however, was a unified kingdom: the Kingdom of Naples. (Since much of Romano's canon history covers that area, he will be referred to as "Naples" for the duration of this chapter-even by Spain. Another important player existing on the Italian peninsula was the Papal States, which controlled a solid unified strip of land in central Italy, encompassing a micro nation known as San Marino. **

***For the purpose of this fic, I have decided to change Gratiano from being Seborga to being San Marino. My original plans did not include San Marino, but as I did more research, I realized it would make more sense for San Marino to be in the fic instead of Seborga. HOWEVER. I will add Seborga in later on.  
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**Throughout the Italian Wars, France was causing considerable trouble for Spain in the Italian Peninsula. At one time France even captured much of southern Italy. However, Spain kicked France's ass out of the Italian peninsula and resumed control of southern Italy. **

**Disclaimer: ...Christmas is coming up soon. If I owned Hetalia, it wouldn't be on my wish list.  
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><p>Wars were evil in its truest form.<p>

"Damnit," Naples growled, searching for a place to hide. The enemy troops were coming way too fucking fast!

"Ah! Lovino, there!" the Papal States pointed to a small alley.

Wasting no time, Naples took a firm hold of her hand and dragged her into the alley. The Papal States used the momentum to make sure they both landed in a hidden spot. The redheaded girl watched the shadows of the soldiers parade by, trying desperately to quiet her breathing. It felt like she had been running for hours; they must have criss-crossed the entire city! The clothes they were wearing were ripped and covered in mud and splatters of blood, and their cloaks hadn't fared any better.

"They're gone, Maria. Now, we have to go back!"

"Go back? But why? That half of the city is full of French troops!"

"Because I saw my brothers, damnit! I saw them, and then those fucking soldiers got in the way."

The Papal States' face showed no visible reaction to the Kingdom of Naples' words. He had told her all about his younger brothers, the ones who represented the lands of the north, from his earliest memories of their mother to the fire that ruined everything. So, finding herself with little choice but to help him reunite with his family, Maria stood up and smiled.

"Well, then, if we're going to get to them before the soldiers double back, we need to get going!"

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><p>They found Veneziano and Gratiano clinging to each other in the ruins of a building. Veneziano had a small dagger that was already almost completely covered in blood, and he held it in front of him, his hands shaking badly. The boy's eyes were wide open in terror, pure fear radiating from their golden depths. Veneziano didn't put the knife down until he was certain they weren't enemies.<p>

"Who…who are you?"

Naples felt his heart drop into his stomach at the question. His brothers really didn't remember him; he had been kept from them for so long… Maria took his hand and squeezed it encouragingly.

"I'm your older brother; I'm the Kingdom of Naples."

"R…really?" Veneziano brightened considerably at the concept. "You're really our big brother?"

Naples nodded, a soft smile on his face. Finally, after _so fucking long_, he was finally with his brothers again. It was like some sort of wonderful, beautiful dream. Veneziano gave him a big smile and tackled him to the ground, Gratiano jumping on them as well. Maria leaned against the wall and smiled. She wasn't part of their family; she was an ally at the moment, and that could very easily change given the nature of their world. Tears burned faintly at the back of Maria's eyes, but she blinked them away. It was wonderful to see Naples smile again; he'd already been through so much…

"We're going to get you two out of here, and take you someplace safe. That way those invaders can't capture you."

"Ve…but where would we be safe? They're everywhere…" Veneziano deflated at his own comment, tightening his grip on Naples' shirt.

"Let Naples and I worry about that," Maria said as she walked over to the brothers. They had started to pick themselves up off the ground after their joyful reunion. "You two worry about keeping quiet and staying out of sight, okay?"

It didn't escape her notice that, despite being younger than him, she looked older than Veneziano. While Veneziano had the appearance of a five-year-old, she looked almost as old as Naples, appearing to be about six or seven. Was that because his lands were so divided while she and Naples had unified territories?

"Ah, there you are! Come to Big Brother France."

Veneziano and Gratiano screamed, hiding behind Naples for protection from the fair-haired man who had just discovered their hiding place. Naples took a battle-ready stance and Maria gripped the handle of her sword. There was no way in hell they were going to let the Frenchman anywhere near the younger boys.

"Oi, bastardo! Stay the hell away from my little brothers!"

France smiled, predatory and cunning. It made Maria's blood chill in her veins. Naples gritted his teeth and tightened his hold on his sword. He remembered his (thankfully brief) time with the French bastard, and wasn't about to let his brothers be put through whatever it was that rapist had in mind.

"Ah, little Naples! It certainly has been awhile, non? Do you want to come back to Big Brother?"

"Hell no! As much as I hate that tomato sucking bastard, Spain, I hate you even more!"

"Why haven't you given up," Maria asked. "You've been thrown out of here several times already, and you're obviously no match for Spain. Why do you insist on causing more problems?"

"The child has a point, mi amigo. Why _do _you keep causing problems for me?"

France froze, feeling the tip of the axe pointed at his back. The Italian children crowded even closer together, Naples and Maria trying to shield the younger boys from Spain's sight.

"For shame, France. Attacking the Italies is one thing, but to corner the Papal States? He is worth more than you are."

Maria bit her lip to keep from commenting. She knew that it would be a good thing in the long-run if the nations accepted her as a boy now. Knowing Spain, he would think she had merely disguised herself as a little girl in an effort to hide from France.

"Ah! Cette petite fille is the Papal States?"

France gave her a smile, almost predatory than kind, and executed and over-exaggerated bow. "Forgive me. I am afraid Big Brother did not recognize you."

"France," Spain chirped, tense warning lacing the otherwise cheerful voice. "I'm not in a very good mood right now, mi amigo. You should probably leave before I decide to kill you."

"In front of the papacy?" France displayed mock shock. "And here I was thinking you were a good Catholic."

Spain narrowed his eyes, the dark green glinting far more dangerously than Naples had ever managed. Maria suppressed a shudder; looks like that had been on the faces of the nations who fought the Crusades. She hated murder and violence, even if it was in the name of the Lord. Though…the Lord had made it a commandment that one should never murder… A small hand took hold of hers and squeezed. Maria looked down to see Veneziano's golden eyes staring at her. Maria gave him a smile, wishing she could shield the two children from the two older nations battling to dominate him.

"Maria, look out!"

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><p>When Naples woke up, it was to a room he was growing far too familiar with.<p>

"Buenos dias," an all-too-familiar voice chirped. "How are you feeling, Lovinito?"

The surly Italian boy shot the sunny nation the darkest glare he could muster. His entire body ached, and he didn't need to look to confirm the presence of carefully wrapped bandages around his torso and right shoulder. Naples tried to remember what had happened before he blacked out, but nothing came to mind save for a sharp scream and the stabbing phantom pains.

"What happened, bastard? Are my brothers and Maria okay?"

Spain paused, the freshly wrung washcloth in his hands.

"They're fine. Well, I'm assuming they're fine. After you got between the Papal States and France's sword, I…dealt with France—" Naples involuntarily shuddered when the true meaning of Spain's version of 'dealt with' clicked in his mind. "—and Austria showed up. Opportunistic artistocrat…"

"What? What did that bastard do?"

"He took Veneziano with him, but the Papal States and that other little boy got away. You really scared me with the amount of blood you lost, Lovi. There were times when I thought you'd end up bleeding to death."

By now, Naples had buried his face in his pillow. It probably would have been kinder to have bled to death. He had failed to protect his little brothers, and it was only a small comfort that Maria had managed to escape with Gratiano. He trusted her, as much as one could trust another of their kind. Maria wasn't her Pope, wanting to cling to the more peaceful aspects of her religion than the war-mongering her current Pope seemed so fond of. She would look after Gratiano, but who would look after Veneziano?

"Lovi, you're really quiet. Is something bothering you?"

"Just go away bastard. I don't want to fucking deal with you."

"Lovi—"

"I fucking said leave!" Naples shouted, hurling his pillow at Spain. A dark wish that the pillow was a knife crossed his mind, and Naples forced himself to pretend he wasn't horrified by it.

"Lovino, your wounds are—"

Whatever his wounds were doing, Naples didn't quite know. He never heard the end of Spain's sentence, as a sharp, searing pain ripped through him and he succumbed to numbing darkness.

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><p>"God has certainly blessed us with your safe return, my son."<p>

Maria nodded, feeling numb to the world around her. A small breeze played with her bare neck, as she had already cut her hair to a more masculine length. Gratiano clung to her side, faint whimpers still escaping from his throat in the aftermath of a rather impressive lecture Maria had received from one of the cardinals upon her return. Now her boss was welcoming her back, thanking God that she was unharmed.

"Now, tell me of all you have been through," the Pope prompted. "Who is this little boy who clings to you? Speak, young Luke. I am interested in your tale."

Maria took a deep breath and nodded. She couldn't be Maria anymore, because the Pope didn't want Maria. He wanted Luke, the personification of the Papal States. So Maria would give him Luke, and as she gently petted Gratiano's hair, she replaced Maria with Luke.

After all, that was what her Boss wanted, and wasn't a nation's job to please his boss and people?

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><p><strong>...I apologize for the fail. I hope that I didn't make France and Spain too OOC, but this was my first time actually writing them. To be honest, it's...odd writing two canon idiots as the badasses they were during this time period. Seriously, these two had some pretty awesome forces going on during the Italian Wars.<br>**


	10. The Confession

**I suck. I royally suck. Maybe one of these days I'll set a deadline I can actually make. /OTL**

**That being said, I think this is one of my longer chapters, so hopefully that makes up for the wait. **

**(Also, another reason this update took so freaking long was that I recently acquired a new headcanon involving Prussia and Germany and have started production on a historical drama based on it. You'll get snipets of my new headcanon in this chapter, and probably more in the next chapter. Enjoy!)**

**Disclaimer: ...After 9 chapters of this, you think people would get the idea that I don't own Hetalia. **

**(Also, side note: I set this chapter to take place roughly around 1660.)  
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><p>Venetia held no love for Brandenburg. Holy Rome's northern sister was harsh and pushy, far too sly and manipulative for Venetia's comfort. He didn't so much mind her constant flirting with Protestant nations (Saxony was scary, but he had always treated him with a sort of kindness, but Palatine was just <em>insane<em>) as he did her seemingly endless struggle with Holy Rome. The two always found something to bicker about, be it Brandenburg's foreign policy or her complete lack of social grace. (The woman had never once worn a dress. Not once in her centuries of life.) The latest argument, however, was taking place over Brandenburg's sudden (and quite frankly alarming) decision to marry a Protestant fief of Poland's.

"For the last time, Ludwig, this is not some poorly thought-out decision made in the heat of the moment! What do you really think my Electors were after with their plans and carefully executed marriages? I've been practically engaged for decades now!"

"But with _Prussia_? Sister, you can do so much better than some Baltic duchy!"

"Oh, is that so? Well that's funny, considering I've been Europe's _whore_ my entire life! I'm nothing to anyone unless it entails a way to strike at you. Well, I'm tired of being raped to death by Swedes and Danes! This marriage means everything to me, and you're still insisting on interfering! I thought you, of all people save perhaps that stuck-up bastard Austria, would be over the goddamned moon that I'm finally starting to act like a woman."

He could definitely see Brandenburg's side of the story, knowing the feeling of being trampled on by everybody. He had never been _raped_ to death, though, and for a brief, morbid moment pondered what that would feel like. Coming up with less-than-pleasant images, Venetia shooed the thoughts from his mind and returned his attention to eavesdropping on the pair. Apparently Holy Rome had already answered, because the next thing the Italian state heard was Brandenburg's sharp voice brutally chastising her younger brother.

"Oh, and who is the one acting like a petulant child now? You're absolutely right, though: I have no idea what it's like to be an unstable empire completely at the mercy of those you rule. I only know what it's like to be a worthless German backwater completely at the mercy of whatever army is marching through my lands. You sit here and embarrass yourself with this silly crush of yours, innocent to the concept that the world beyond Austria's estate is far colder and immeasurably crueler than anything you've experienced."

Venetia barely had time to hide before the door opened all the way and Brandenburg exited the room, dressed plainly in earthen tones. She shut the door and sighed, leaning against the heavy wood and taking a moment to recompose herself.

"You know, little Venetia, it isn't polite to eavesdrop on the conversations of others."

The young Italian squeaked a bit in surprise, thinking he had hidden himself before she noticed him.

"You're better than sneaking around," Brandenburg said, pushing herself off the door. "You have wealth, good land, and coasts. Don't throw it all to waste by sneaking around like some pathetic little street urchin."

Venetia watched as the northern woman strode away, her thick cloak dancing behind her as it caught the invisible drafts of the castle. She still wore breeches and tunics, but her hair was now almost to her mid-back, tied in a low ponytail. It wouldn't be long before she would be found wearing dresses and performing the duties of a proper wife.

…For some reason, that made Venetia feel sad.

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><p>Things could always be worse. That was Naples's mental mantra as he continued on with life.<p>

He bore the indignity of wearing dresses, dealing with that eerie look in Spain's eyes whenever the older nation saw him. (Sometimes he swore Spain snuck into his room at night, eyeing him up like some piece of meat to be prepared for dinner. Naples would discretely bit his pillow, trying to suppress his shudders until the larger man left.)

He forced himself to speak Spain's language, spending nights muttering to himself in desperate Italian. (He had it down to a science, now; able to stop his muttering before Spain arrived for his nightly creeping. Spain didn't like hearing Naples speak Italian.)

He did his chores, often fumbling under Spain's scrutinizing gaze. (The bastard just thought he was clumsy and lazy. Naples didn't challenge this; he would rather have Spain think that he wasn't worth his time instead of having the other doing all of the things the darkness in his eyes imagined.)

All in all, Naples persevered. To his credit, Spain usually had a nice personality and was very kind. It was a lot like there were two Spains: one was a kind, loving man who treated Naples like his own flesh-and-blood; the other was a dark, ruthless conquistador who saw Naples as something to be dominated and ruled. As much as he loved the man, Naples found he wasn't entirely surprised by the conquistador. After all, Naples had nothing but what portions of inheritance his grandfather had left him. (The dark surprise at actually being remembered by the once-powerful empire was a sentiment the southern Italian refused to acknowledge.)

_Things could always be worse._ That was the only thing Naples allowed to go through his head as the conquistador overpowered the man and pinned him to his bed. _Things could always be worse._ The conquistador leaned forward, his voice low and husky. Naples's stomach lurched in fear and anxiety, and he squeezed his eyes shut. The conquistador's grip on his arm hurt, the area beginning to throb in increasing sharpness as the larger's body weight pressed against his own. _Things could always be worse._

"Are you surprised at this, Lovinito? Are you surprised that I want this, after all of that horrid teasing you keep putting me through?"

"Ah! N-not te-teasing, bastard!"

The conquistador clicked his tongue and tightened his grip, causing Naples to cry out in pain. Through the pained haze of his mind, Naples becoming suddenly aware of a throbbing, hard piece of anatomy pressed against his hindquarters. His stomach dropped at the implications. He wasn't going to wake up a virgin, was he? It wasn't going to be some beautiful girl with a kind smile, or even a kind man who treasured him; no, it was going to be the conquistador who would rob him of the only thing of value he truly considered his.

"You don't realize how utterly _stunning_ you are, do you? Every time I see you in that dress, I want to fuck you into the nearest flat surface. I want to see you squirming and writhing beneath me, flushed and sweaty and absolutely _beautiful_. I want to hear you moaning and screaming my name in that wondrous voice of yours, ignorant to anything but my dick up your ass. Proclaiming your debauchery to God himself."

"N-no! No, please! D-ngh-don't!"

"Hmm, I wonder if Italy would fight me so much…is your little brother as much of a teasing whore as you are?"

_This could've been Veneziano, _Naples realized in cold horror. _This could've been Veneziano pinned under this monster, terrified and unable to do anything to defend himself. Veneziano could've been the one about to be r—hurt. _That did it. There was no way in hell Naples would ever let Veneziano end up dirtied by such a horrible act. Veneziano deserved to give his virginity to someone he loved. A rare feat among nations, yes, but Naples would do anything to make it a reality. He couldn't stand the idea of Veneziano left crying and broken by the conquistador, so he did the only thing he could.

"Ah? What's this? Are you finally seeing how pointless it is to deny me?"

Naples fought back the urge to cringe, willing his body to remain completely pliant. If he could keep the conquistador sated, then at least it meant he could do _something_ to protect his younger brother. Nausea washed over him as the conquistador ran his free hand down Naples's side, fingers sneaking under the shirt he had worn to bed. (He never slept naked nowadays; he hadn't wanted anyone to view his naked body but the one he gave himself to.) The boy cried out as the conquistador wrapped a firm hand around his young manhood.

"We're going to have a lot of fun tonight, Lovinito."

Naples's screams soon filled the night air.

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><p>Living in Lord Austria's house wasn't too bad, Venetia supposed. Sure, they didn't have pasta, but he was still well-fed and clothed and never expected do accomplish more than his tiny body could handle. Miss Hungary was very kind to him, teaching him all sorts of interesting and useful things. She taught him the proper way to sweep and mop, how to do laundry, furthered his knowledge of cooking (though he did wonder at her obsessive use of paprika…), and had also taught him how to mend his clothes. And then there was Holy Rome.<p>

Venetia felt his face heating up at the thought of the blue-eyed empire. His body always acting so peculiar around the other boy; his palms would get sweaty, he'd become clumsier than he already was, and his heart hammered painfully against his ribcage. The young Italian was thankful that his acting skills allowed him to keep his feelings toward the Holy Roman Empire hidden. Even if he wore dresses and his voice was still high pitched, that didn't change the fact that he was a boy, and so was Holy Rome. Love between two boys was not something that was looked upon with favor, no matter what Miss Hungary said.

"Venetia! A letter arrived today, from your brother!"

The tiny redhead smiled in happy surprise. "A letter? From fratello? Yay! I want to read it!"

Miss Hungary smiled at him, and Veneziano had the strangest feeling that the brunette was going to tease him before giving him the letter his fratello had written for him. And knowing Miss Hungary, the teasing would involve a few promises of trying on whatever dresses she could find, or doing embarrassing things.

"I need some help with a dress I'm making; if I give you this letter, will you help me?"

Yep. More dresses. Venetia suppressed a sigh and agreed to the condition. Letters from his brother were worth the hours spent in Miss Hungary's room as the woman measured and pinned and sewed her latest creations. (Besides, he did like helping Miss Hungary; it was nice to see her smile.)

"Thank you very much, Venetia! Here you go!"

The young boy squealed in happiness as he took the letter and made a break for his room. He threw the door shut and broke the wax seal. Beautiful handwriting adorned the parchment; Naples had such wonderful handwriting, and Venetia was certain that it was better than even his own. The letter was written entirely in Italian, but some words were written in Spanish. (His _grazie _morphing into _gracias_, _Spagna _was now written as _Espa__ñ__a_, etc.) It was small, but Venetia frowned a bit at the obvious influence Spain was exerting over Naples. Austria hadn't forced Venetia to learn German—he had learned mainly for Holy Rome.

_Dear Veneziano,_

_I'm sorry it's taken so long for me to write back. Spain's insistent that I only write in Spanish, so I had to keep reminding him that you don't speak Spanish. By the way, tell Austria I said thanks; he was the one who finally got that point through Spain's thick skull. I owe him one. Things are going well here, I guess. Spain's an idiot; but what else is new? How are things going in Austria's house? Is he being nice to you? Have you been able to get him to let you eat pasta? Hungary's not still making you wear dresses, is she? I finally got Spain to let me start dressing like a boy; Belgium knocked some sense into him. _

_And what about that Holy Rome kid? Has he figured out you're actually a boy? Oh, and tell Brandenburg congratulations; Spain's been acting all pissy lately because she's marrying that fief of Poland's—Prussia, was it? I don't know why he's upset about it; Brandenburg isn't exactly the most advantageous piece of land and who really cares about Prussia? But enough about that; the only thing that whole story tells you is that Spain's a thick-skulled idiot, and you already knew that. _

_Spain's mentioned taking me along the next time he goes to visit Austria (those two should seriously just move in together already; they've been married for what, one-hundred-and-fifty-years?) but don't hold your breath. Spain hasn't let me leave the property since that whole incident with Turkey. He's even antsy when I go outside to tend the gardens! It's smothering; at least Austria lets you go outside. He even lets you stay in your own house from time to time! You're really lucky, Veneziano. Austria doesn't treat you like some sort of breakable doll._

_Still, it'd be nice to see you again. Have you heard anything from Maria or Gratiano? Spain controls everything they send me; I haven't been able to read a single letter and every time Maria visits, I'm given some sort of task and sent away. (That's the only time Spain lets me out of his sight; at least, when he's here and not off conquering the New World.) But I'd better not hear any German from you! You're Italian, and God help me, you will __not__ corrupt our culture with their language and potatoes. You're better than that!_

_I should probably finish this up; Austria will be here shortly and I need to give this to him. I'll let you know if Spain actually goes through with taking me over to Austria's. Until then, stay safe, little brother! Keep eating well and for God's sake, tell Hungary that you are a boy and should therefore be dressed as such! Wearing dresses isn't manly, damnit! You're my little brother, not my little sister. _

_Love, Naples_

There was something off about the letter. Venetia got the strangest feeling that there was something Naples was keeping from him. The tone Naples's words regarding Spain's protectiveness seemed…odd. Instead of carrying the angry feel previous letters had, this time the words seemed almost bitter and resentful. Venetia hoped nothing bad had happened.

"Venetia? May I come in?"

"Ve, you may, Miss Hungary."

The door opened and the brunette entered the room, a broom in her hand. "What did you brother have to know?"

"He says Big Brother Spain might bring him along to visit soon!"

Miss Hungary smiled. "Well that's certainly exciting! It certainly has been awhile since you've seen each other."

Venetia nodded, thinking about the scratches he had made on the wall behind his dresser. A mark for each year that passed without him seeing his older brother, totaling up to one-hundred-and-one lines. One-hundred-and-one years had gone by without the brothers seeing each other. Over a century spent in the houses of others, never allowed to be completely their own.

"You miss your brother, don't you?"

"Si," Venetia answered, hugging his knees to his chest. "I miss him lots. I miss his pizza, I miss his smiles, I even miss his angry swearing!"

"Well then, it would certainly do you both good to see each other again!"

"Fratello said not to get my hopes up," Venetia muttered. "He said Big Brother Spain hasn't given him much freedom since Turkey tried to take him away."

"I'm sure Spain wouldn't deny you two a chance to catch up. He adores you as much as he adores Naples."

Miss Hungary was leaving something out; Venetia could tell from the look on her face. She was a very expressive woman, typically wearing her heart on her sleeve, and seeing her holding something back from him unnerved the boy. The only time Miss Hungary ever made the effort to keep something from him was when it was serious. Not like with the small surprises she kept from him from time to time, she always had a teasing look on her face and a smile that could turn midnight into noon.

"…Si, I guess you're right."

* * *

><p>"Father Luke?"<p>

Maria—Luke now, having thrown away her feminine identity to play the man everyone expected her to be—looked over her shoulder to see Spain. The Iberian nation was soaking wet from the storm raging outside, small puddles of water forming from his cloak. Having finished lighting the candles in preparation for evening Mass, the young priest turned to face him fully.

"Spain? Is there something troubling you?"

"Is it too late for me to do a confession?"

"Well, this certainly isn't a traditional time, but a confession is always welcome in the House of the Lord. Come with me; tell me of your sins."

Luke led the Spaniard to one of the pews; unorthodox, yes, but no one would be coming in for another hour or so. The man buried his face in his hands, trying to compose himself before he began. Luke felt a twinge of worry bubble up in him; Spain was Naples's caregiver. Had something gone wrong?

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been two years since my last confession."

Spain inhaled sharply, his shoulders jerking with the movement.

"I…I think I…I…_raped_…someone. Someone I care for very much."

Luke had become no stranger to confessions of horrible sins from his fellow nations. He had heard nations confessing to rape before, but few were entirely bothered by it. It was part of who they were, rape as much a part of them as their culture and language. Rape was often how their kind displayed supreme dominance, and few were free of the memory of rape in one form or another. Spain's next words, however, sent Luke's stomach plummeting.

"I raped Naples. I've done it several times now, and I'm afraid that I can't stop. It's like something takes hold of me when I'm near him, and before I know it, he's sobbing and naked on the floor with me buried inside of him. I'm a horrible person, to do such a thing to a child."

"So, you are having issues with the conquistador again," Luke managed to get out, trying to mask just how shaken he was by the confession. When he had taken Gratiano and evaded capture, Luke had been convinced that Spain and Austria would take good care of Naples and Venetia. To hear that the person he had been so sure would never hurt Naples had hurt him in one of the worst ways destroyed something in the priest.

"Yes. I go over to the New World as often as I can in order to control it somehow, but the more I think I can deal with it, the worse things get. I can't keep blacking out and waking up to find I've hurt Lovino again. He's been through enough."

"The fact that you've come to me in confession demonstrates that you have gathered the will to put an end to this," Luke said. "As per the Latin rite, I ask you to make an Act of Contrition. Bear in mind that this must be done with complete sincerity; our Father's forgiveness shines brightest on those who mean every word."

"Yes, Father."

Luke finished recommending penance, and watched as the other went to perform the tasks asked of him. Spain's confession had unnerved him, and Luke felt the strongest urge to attempt to contact his brothers. Austria hadn't done anything like that to Venetia, not that Luke knew of. Not to say that the younger brother knew no abuse; Luke had seen the marks enough to know that Venetia received quite a bit of punishment at least occasionally.

"_I'll do anything to keep my brothers safe, Maria. Even if it means that I have to keep getting hurt and taking blame for things I didn't do, I'll do it. They're my little brothers; they're all I have left."_

* * *

><p><strong>Well, I hope that wasn't as much of a pile of crap as I think it was. And to those of you still bothering to stick around and review, thanks so much. (And Romano just keeps getting shafted, doesn't he?) <strong>

**A small explanation: In 1660, the Electorate of Brandenburg and the Duchy of Prussia unified to form the Kingdom of Prussia. My new headcanon has translated that into a marriage between Prussia and Brandenburg. (Ironically enough, this marriage lasted up until roughly 1932/1936-ish, when the Nazis dissolved Prussia de facto, therefore meaning that Prussia's first [and only] marriage lasted for nearly _300 years. _Suck on that, Austria.)  
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**Next chapter I think I'm going to do a precursor to the Italian War for Independence. (Which, you guessed it, means Prussia, Prussia, and more Prussia.)**

**As always, please leave a review! I can't grow as a writer if you don't tell my where I did well, where I screwed up, and how to improve. Thanks, and until next time!  
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	11. The Vote

**Alright! I managed to finish this chapter! 8D **

**Okay, celebration aside, I hope this is still up to standard. I did quite a bit of research to pull this together, and it only covers the first two wars the Italies fought to gain independence, but still! Thanks once again to the lovely people who take the time to review this; it really makes me happy! And it keeps me motivated!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. I'm just playing with the characters because playing Sims got boring.  
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* * *

><p>"I want us to unite."<p>

Naples nearly choked on his tomato. He stared at his younger brother with a mix of shock and disbelief. Venetia looked rather indignant, the look on his face reminding the older boy way too much of Austria. Naples suppressed a shiver at the implications. Was Spain's influence as prevalent in him as Austria's had become in Venetia?

"What?"

"Unite," Venetia said, using a tone of voice not too dissimilar from one a person would use when addressing a young child. "You know, become one country. The two of us, free from our oppressors and able to do things our own way. Can't you just imagine it, fratello? One Italy, the both of us representing it side by side."

"Do you have any idea what you're suggesting? Do you think Austria is just going to let you waltz out of his house without a fight? Or that Spain will be so willing to let me go?"

"Silly fratello, of course I know what I'm suggesting. And I'm not stupid; I know Austria will fight me every step of the way. I'd be surprised if he didn't, with how much money I make him. But I'm tired of being a servant, fratello. I'm tired of being looked down on by everyone else. Don't you feel the same way about Spain?"

That was the thing. No one at Spain's house (of their kind, anyway) really seemed to look down on him. Belgium adored him and treated him like a little brother, which usually meant that the Netherlands did as well. Spain…well, things had finally started to smooth out between them after that horrific night. He didn't flinch when the older man touched him anymore, he could stand to be in the same room as him and not feel uncomfortable about it, and during daylight hours, Spain had returned to being the first person he ran to for comfort.

"Fratello? Am I wrong? You don't feel the same way about Spain?"

"It's…it's difficult to explain, fratellino," Naples muttered, hugging his knees close to his chest.

"Spain's hurt you, hasn't he? I don't know what he did or how he hurt you or anything like that, but I know he hurt you in some way. Why would you want to stay with someone who hurt you?"

_It's been nearly two hundred years since he last hurt me, _Naples wanted to shout. _What he did hurt him almost as much as it hurt me. He couldn't bear to look at me for _years_._ _Besides, he really has changed…_

An angry pout settled on Venetia's face at Naples's silence. Naples tried to ignore the dark look on his younger brother's normally sweet face. When had the boy become so…_twisted_? Was it simply a case of Austria's influence over him showing? And why would Venetia want to leave Austria's, anyway? Didn't he have a massive crush on that Holy Rome kid?

"Doesn't Holy Rome live with Austria? You used to write in your letters about how much you wanted to be at Holy Rome's side forever. What changed?"

The anger melted into sorrow, and Venetia slumped. It was like someone had flipped some sort of lever in his brother's personality, sucking all of the life and energy from his petite frame. Concern filled the older boy; it wasn't natural to see his brother displaying such emotions. Venetia had always occupied his memories as a cheerful child with a smile ready for anyone.

"Holy Rome is dead. France and Austria killed him. Prussia and Brandenburg told me."

"Fratellino…"

There was really nothing he could say in response. Naples hadn't been alerted to Holy Rome's passing, and he sent a quick prayer up for the young empire.

"They killed him, and they didn't even have the guts to tell me. Even Miss Hungary wanted to keep the truth from me. I would still be waiting for him if I hadn't run into Prussia and Brandenburg," Venetia explained, gripping his arms. "They thought I knew, that I had been told…it wasn't until after Brandenburg mentioned it that they realized that…that I didn't know…"

_The basket dropped to the ground, the vegetables and fruits spilling out onto the cobblestone streets. Brandenburg's expression was a mix of shock and horror as the reality of the situation dawned on her. Prussia didn't look any better, and he frowned. _

"_They…didn't tell you?"_

"_T…tell me what?" Venetia could think, couldn't feel. The Holy Roman Empire couldn't be dead. Prussia and Brandenburg were liars, just like Mr. Austria always said! _

"_Oh, Venetia," Brandenburg's voice was soft and gentle, and it was wrong. So very wrong. Brandenburg was as harsh as her land, barren and bitter and devoid of kindness. "Venetia, I'm so sorry, but Holy Rome died a few weeks ago…France and Austria had him dissolved."_

"_No! You're…you're lying! You're both lying!"_

"_Listen, kid, we aren't lying!" Prussia's actions were more familiar, but they still seemed completely alien. "We wouldn't lie about this, especially not to you. You meant more to that kid than anyone."_

"_He's not dead! He's not! He's alive, and he's coming back! He promised me! He _promised_!"_

_Before he knew it, he was in Brandenburg's arms, soaking her shawl with his tears. He clung to her, desperately wishing that everything they had said was a lie. Something, some traitorous part of him, told him that she was right. The Holy Roman Empire was never coming home, and he had broken his promise to Venetia. _

_Prussia snarled and punched the wall, making sure to temper his strength enough that he wouldn't break anything. If it had hurt him to hear his wife crying over the little boy she had helped raise, it tore him to shreds to hear little Venetia sob into Brandenburg's shoulder. Kids should have no reason to cry; they should be able to smile and laugh and not have to worry about politics and war and dissolution. _

"_Venetia," Brandenburg said softly, gently running her fingers through the child's auburn hair, "he wouldn't want you to be so upset over him. He'd want you to smile and laugh, because those are his best memories of you. He would want you to keep living, because you can. You're alive, and you shouldn't ever forget that."_

"_I…I don't know where to go from here," Venetia muttered, sniffling into the soaked fabric of the handmade shawl. "I don't know how to keep living!"_

"_I can't give you that answer," the woman said with a sad smile. "All I can tell you is that you can't sit still and drown in your sorrow. He wouldn't want that for you._

"_And I know you don't want that for yourself."_

"That's why we have to become independent. I can't bear to stay in that house anymore! I can't bear to be separated from you anymore!"

Venetia got up from the ground, and Naples couldn't ignore the look in his brother's eyes. There was something almost _insane_ in that look, some spark of something that had his mind screaming at him to run away and stay as far away as possible from the Venetian.

"I don't care when you join me, fratello, but I want you to be on board with this. You can stay with Spain for a little bit longer, but when I come to get you, you are going to leave with me, got it?"

"No need, fratellino," Naples said, getting up. "I'm with you. I just hope you don't end up getting us killed…"

* * *

><p>Venetia cried out when his battered body hit the hard ground. He was bleeding and sore, pain dully throbbing from every last inch of his body. His uniform was ripped and dirty, stained beyond salvation from his struggles for freedom. Austria glared at him from the doorway.<p>

"You ungrateful little brat. How dare you try to declare your independence? Haven't I given you food and shelter and protection from your enemies?"

"I'm not a child anymore, Austria," Venetia snapped back. Before he could say anything more, a vicious coughing fit ripped through him. He was weak and hungry, and the cholera was turning his life into a living hell.

"You're sick, and starving. Consider yourself lucky that your leaders had the good sense to surrender before you died. Honestly, Venetia, you're smarter than this. You're a pathetic, cowardly weakling. Forget those silly ideas of being independent; you'll be your own nation when I damn well say so."

With that, Austria slammed the door shut. Venetia curled up into a call in the corner of his cell. Austria wasn't wrong. He was sick and he was starving, and maybe he wasn't the strongest nation in the world. Another coughing fit exploded from his throat, violently shaking his weakened body. Screams of pain filled the spaces between the jagged coughs, until Venetia barely had the strength to breathe. He had been locked up before, punishment for stealing food or not doing his chores, but back then he had had Holy Rome on his side. Even if the food was disgusting, at least it had been food.

He needed an ally, someone he could get relatively close to without arousing Austria's suspicions. That pretty much eliminated Prussia from the list. As strong as the Germanic nation was, and as much as he hated Austria, Venetia had no prayer of contacting him to ask for an alliance. It'd be nothing short of a miracle if he would even be allowed to see his brother again.

_I…I messed up…didn't think things through well enough…_

Part of Venetia boiled in anger. How hard could a revolution really be? America managed it, didn't he? And he was fighting against the British Empire, not Austria! Even if America had help from Prussia and…France…

_France…that's it._

He really didn't want to ally himself with one of the nations responsible for Holy Rome's death, but what choice did he really have? It was decided then; Venetia would have to secure an alliance with France against Austria, and then he could take another whack at revolution.

_I have to be careful, though; I can't just rush into this again. I need to bide my time, and I can't directly ally with France…I need someone to go through…maybe I could convince Sardinia to get the wheels moving again?_

Sardinia hated her life as a nation; Venetia couldn't remember how many times he had caught her watching families pass by with a gleam of envy in her eyes. More than once she had told him about how much she wanted to be an ordinary human again, how much she wanted to meet a nice man, settle down, and raise a family of her own. Sardinia couldn't do any of that so long as her nation status existed. She had been more than delighted to start the revolution last time, practically giddy with the thought of handing her land over to him and living the life she had always dreamed of.

_Yes…Sardinia will do it,_ Venetia confirmed, _she can get away long enough to ally with France and get this started again. Oh, and I'll have to find some way to talk to the other states. It's going to take time, but we can do it. I know we can!_

* * *

><p>"Are you really so desperate to leave me?"<p>

Naples froze, hardly daring to look over his shoulder, knowing Spain was standing there. He was being sneaky and underhanded, he knew, leaving the Spaniard's home in the middle of the night, but it had to be done. Sardinia had already spoken to him about what was going to happen, and he couldn't say he didn't want it. The idea of a unified Italy, free from outside influence, had grown on him. An entire kingdom with his brothers, all of them together again under one flag and one leader.

"You don't have to sneak away, Lovino, and you don't have to fight me. I won't try to stop you."

Something in Naples's heart stopped at that. It sounded bad, but Naples actually wanted Spain to challenge his leaving. He wanted the older nation to fight to keep him, to move heaven and hell to keep the southern Italian as his lackey. Even if it was only to prove, in some way, that Naples was worth the effort. After all, if even Spain didn't want him anymore, then who's to say his brother still would?

"I don't have the right to force you to stay here."

"Idiot," Naples snapped, feeling his anger swell in response to the ugly feelings of self-loathing rising within him. "You have every right to grab me and lock me in my room. I'm your lackey, aren't I?"

"I can't hurt you, Roma," Spain said, and Naples whirled around at the nickname. Spain had always had something of a hard time calling him Naples, and had started calling him Romano instead.

The young man's heart clenched at the look on the Spaniard's face. Spain had a sad sort of smile on his face as he leaned against the door frame. There was a flicker of something he didn't quite recognize in Spain's eyes, something he couldn't remember seeing before. It seemed familiar in the older man's dark green eyes, and for a moment, Naples flashed back to centuries ago, when he was still a small child and his mother and father were still alive. He _had _seen that look before; he had seen it in the green depths of his mother's eyes.

…_He…he's _proud_…of _me_…?_

"So you and your brother are going to become one united country, huh?"

Naples pulled himself out of his memories and nodded. "Yeah."

"What are you going to call yourselves? You changed your name for Sicily; will you change it again for Venetia?"

He _had _changed his name for Sicily. The fiery, hot-tempered girl he had harbored the strongest crush on for years, the one who pretty much beat down his door and demanded he unite with her. So they had pretty much eloped without informing anyone, and had returned to Spain's house with Sicily wearing a smug grin and Naples flustered and embarrassed beyond all words. (Belgium had teased them relentlessly about it; _"At least Prussia and Brandenburg gave us all fair warning before they got married. And I wanted to plan your wedding since they wouldn't let me touch theirs!"_)

"Lovino, what's taking you so long," Sicily hissed, coming out of the shadows, her own bag slung over her shoulder. "Say your goodbyes and let's go! We promised to meet Sardinia at dawn!"

"You aren't even going to say good bye to Belgium," Spain asked, genuinely surprised. Sicily, for her foul temper and complete disdain for anything feminine, had been quite fond of Belgium.

Sicily glared and straightened. "How I conduct my affairs is no longer any of your concern. The only one who has any right to worry about that is my husband, thank you very much."

Naples blushed at the word. Sure, they both were more than old enough to get married, even by the terms of their kind, but still…the idea of being a husband still hadn't quite sunken in. And what would their marriage mean in the new, unified country they were creating? Would it still be recognized? …Would they want it to be?

Spain laughed a bit at her response and nodded.

"Yes, yes, I suppose you're right. Now get going, both of you. I'm sure Sardinia is waiting for you."

Sicily rolled her eyes at the mental image of her sister waiting in the harbor, impatiently pacing the deck of her ship and directing dark curses in the direction of her elder sister. The redhead took Naples hand, both blushing a bit at the contact, and the two head off into the night.

* * *

><p>Venetia cried as he collapsed into Naples's arms, all tears and smiles and "finally, finally, <em>finally.<em>" Sicily set their bags down and set to work making food, remarking on how thin the northern Italian looked as Naples carried his brother back into the house. It was alarming how ill the younger man looked; how sickly and pale his complexion had become, how cold he felt in comparison. Naples tried to convince himself that it was just because of the rain that Venetia's skin seemed so cold and clammy.

"Veneziano," Sardinia scolded, hurrying over to the brothers. "What in God's name possessed you to go outside in such weather? You're already ill; let's not go trying your luck! His room's back this way; follow me."

_Things have changed, _her dark brown eyes said. _We need to talk._

Naples couldn't do anything but comply, following Sardinia down the hallway with Venetia cradled in his arms like a child. The younger brother clung to him, weakly grasping the rough cloth of his uniform. A series of coughs suddenly ravaged the boy's weakened body, and Naples was struck by the sudden fear that his little brother would die in his arms.

"Set him down on the bed," Sardinia instructed as they entered a room containing only a bed and night table, "and help me get him into some dry clothes."

"How long has he been like this?"

"The illness became obvious after you and Sicily voted for annexation, but I imagine he's been staving off the fever ever since he started this entire campaign. Lift his arms, will you?"

Naples did as she asked, allowing Sardinia to pull the soaked linen over the young man's head and pat him down with a towel. She casted the cloth to the side and slipped a dry, clean shirt onto the other's shivering frame. Sardinia motioned for Naples to ease him down.

"Don't worry, though," Sardinia continued as she worked. "He'll be fine once I transfer my lands to him."

"What?"

"You and Sicily voted to join me, not him. This illness of his is simply a result of that technicality. If we can keep him going for a few more days, all that I am will be under his name and he should begin to recover."

"And if your wager is wrong," Sicily asked, making her presence known as she leaned against the doorframe.

Sardinia sighed and ran a hand through her thick reddish brown hair.

"If I'm wrong, then I offer both my sincerest apologies and my most heartfelt condolences in advance."

* * *

><p>"We need Rome. Vatican and San Marino," Venetia said, staring at the map spread out before him. "Then it will all be over. We'll be a country together, fratello."<p>

Naples eyed his younger brother. The young man hadn't improved since Sardinia's attempt to give him her lands. Like Rome, Venetia was not part of the new Kingdom of Italy. A great bit of irony, but Naples found himself a bit relieved that Venetia was still his own entity. It meant he had a bit longer to figure out how to make sure his brother survived the unification.

"You realize we'll also need to bring you into this, right?"

The young redhead straightened and looked up at his older brother. Jade green met golden amber for the briefest of moments before Venetia had to close his eyes, winching faintly in pain. As soon as it disappeared, the look of pain vanished was replaced by a smile.

"I know," he replied. "You and Sicily and the others will have to invade, and beat back Austria."

"We can't do it alone, fratellino," Naples reminded him, frowning a bit. "You have far too much faith in us if you think we can handle Austria without help."

"Ve, I know that. I've already thought of someone who could help us."

"Who?"

"Promise you won't get mad, fratello?"

Naples gave him a strange look. "Why would I get mad?"

"I want you to get help from Prussia."

* * *

><p><strong>...Okay, so there was less Prussia in here than I had wanted. HOWEVER. Next chapter is dealing with the Third Italian War for Independence, and that's the one Prussia got really involved in. Which means there's going to be some awkward Prussia and Romano interaction. 8D<strong>

**Well, I hope this chapter was good. I apologize for the long wait. Happy St. Patrick's Day, and happy Italian Unification Day! **

**Please read and review!  
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